Middle Earth at Hogwarts
by PrincessEilonwy
Summary: Soon to be renamed. When tragedy befalls our favorite Lord of the Rings trio, how will they react? Do you really want to know?
1. Worse Than a Torture Device

Disclaimer: J.R.R. Rowling and J.K. Tolkien own their own plots, characters, and books which is good because if I owned them, I'd get mixed up all the time.  
  
A/N: While talking with a friend of mine, I suddenly got this idea of Legolas leading a house-elf rebellion and knew I had to write about it. Later on I came up with the other ideas. I'm sure many other people have done this same sort of plot, but if you know anyone who published something exactly like this, tell me and I'll apologize.  
  
Worse Than a Torture Device  
  
As the Uruk-hai marched them up the stone staircase toward Saruman's tower, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli had plenty of time to reflect on their fate. After a while Aragorn found this didn't help, so he counted steps instead.  
  
"Twenty-two thousand, five hundred seventeen," he muttered under his breath as they entered what he fervently hoped was the home stretch. Apparently it was, for next thing the intrepid trio was shoved into the tower room.  
  
"So," Saruman said, rising and stepping toward them. He cracked his knuckles evilly, then seemed compelled to repeat his earlier observation. "So," he continued, stopping directly in front of the three and giving them the patented Saruman Evil Eye.  
  
Aragorn didn't flinch at this, perhaps because he didn't get the full impact of the look through the lank, stringy hair falling over his face. "We're not going to beg for mercy, Saruman," he said bravely.  
  
"We aren't?" Legolas wondered. Aragorn elbowed him and he fell silent.  
  
"Kill us now and get it over with," Aragorn challenged, throwing out his chest and wishing Arwen was there to see him being so courageous and manly.  
  
Saruman shook his head slowly and sadistically, enjoying the expressions of terrified anticipation on his prisoners' faces. "No, death's too good for you boys," he said, savoring every word. Then he turned toward the Uruk- hai. "Prepare the time portal!"  
  
"What's this time portal, a torture device?" Legolas asked skeptically. The others followed his gaze to the other side of the room, where two orcs were pushing what appeared to be an ordinary, freestanding doorway toward them.  
  
Saruman threw back his head and laughed the most evil laugh they had ever heard. "Worse than a torture device, my elf friend. You see, I have enlisted the aid of powerful dark magic to create a gateway to another fantasy series." Confusion registered on the faces of the trio, so he elaborated, "A *modern* fantasy series."  
  
Gimli gasped in horror. "That is worse than a torture device!" he cried, averting his face from the dreaded time portal.  
  
"Okay, now we're begging," Aragorn said desperately, fighting to get away as he was dragged toward it. "Pleeeeeeeaaase kill us now?" This impassioned plea had no effect on the hard-hearted Saruman, who only laughed more loudly and gestured the orcs to throw them in. This they did eagerly.  
  
Plunging through the doorway, Legolas had the impression of a tunnel spiraling past him. [Hey, this is like the cheesy effects in one of those time-travel movies. Wait...what's a movie?]  
  
Before Legolas could answer this burning question, something rushed up from below to meet him and knocked him unconscious.  
  
A/N: Hi, that was somewhat stupid. The whole time portal thing...But it was the only way I could think of to get them to Hogwarts. The reason this is posted in the Harry Potter section instead of Crossovers is because I can't access the Crossovers part, so I'm not sure whether everyone else can or not. PLEEEEEAASE review and tell me whether you can get onto Crossovers so I can tell whether the problem is with the site or my computer. Also tell me if you know how to get italic and bold lettering to show up. Thanks! Hopefully Coming Soon: Chapter Two. 


	2. People With Arrows Make Natural Chick Ma...

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter belong to respectively J.R.R. Tolkien and J.K. Rowling...  
  
Harry: Now just hold on one cotton-pickin' minute! I don't belong to anyone...except maybe Cho... **falls into wishful daydream and wanders off to find the Ravenclaw common room**  
  
Frodo: And...uh...what he said! No one owns me either-THE RING IS CALLING ME!!!!! YESSSS PRECIOUS MASTER!!!! **puts on the Ring and disappears**  
  
...Riiiigght. Anyway, I don't own these characters, I just torture them.  
  
A/N: And now, finally, the moment you've been waiting for has arrived...Chapter Two is up at last! After that loooooooong week of waiting, you finally get some of your burning questions answered.  
  
Legolas: What about my burning question?  
  
What question?  
  
Legolas: You know, at the end of the last chapter? When I couldn't figure out what a movie was?  
  
Oh. Well, that *particular* question isn't answered. It's more sort of general burning questions...you know, "What will happen to our intrepid trio?" "How will they survive at Hogwarts?" and "Will Aragorn ever wash his hair?"  
  
Legolas: You're right, that is a burning question. I'll shut up now, shall I?  
  
It would be greatly appreciated, yes. And now, our Feature Presentation.  
  
People With Arrows Make Natural Chick Magnets  
  
Before he opened his eyes, Legolas could tell several things about his surroundings. The smells were those of a forest, and he could hear people nearby. Knowing this much, he decided to find out more, so he opened his eyes-and screamed.  
  
There was, of course, a perfectly legitimate reason for this. The reason was the two teenage human girls who were bent over him, their faces about six inches from his own. They were screaming too, but apparently not from shocked surprise.  
  
"Oh my gosh, he's even hotter with his eyes open!" one of them shrieked. She bent closer and Legolas cringed away from the infatuated look in her eyes. He looked around desperately for help, but Aragorn and Gimli were still out cold. He was hopelessly outnumbered.  
  
"Can I, can I, uh, have a date with you?" the other girl stammered, an identical lovestruck expression on her face.  
  
"Shut up, Lavender! I saw him first-he's *mine!*"  
  
"No way! It's not fair, Parvati! You always get the best guys! Let me have a chance," Lavender wheedled frantically. After watching them for a few seconds, Legolas decided teenagers were much more fearsome fighters than orcs. He was getting really scared when he was saved by a huge giant crashing through the underbrush, followed by about a dozen more kids.  
  
[Salvation,] Legolas thought gratefully. [For now, at least. But where am I?] He managed to pull himself to his feet, but that was really depressing, as it only drove home the fact that the guy was still twice as tall as he was. Instead, he concentrated on the rush of self-esteem that accompanied being much taller than the skinny dark-haired kid in glasses who was staring at him.  
  
"Lavender! Parvati! How many times d'I haf ter tell yeh not to go runnin' after cute little rabbits?" the giant scolded in a deep voice. Then he noticed the three visitors from Middle Earth and broke off. "Who are these people?"  
  
"Aw, gee, Hagrid, we just wanted to see the fluffy little bunnies and then we saw him," Parvati whined, gesturing at Gimli. Legolas was pleased to see that his eyes were open now, but Aragorn seemed to still be dead to the world.  
  
"Ahem." He cleared his throat to give himself a few extra seconds to think. "I am Legolas," he said importantly. "This is Aragorn and Gimli. We apologize for intruding on...uh...wherever we are at the moment and we, um, humbly beg your pardon. But you see, we were fighting evil orcs and then Sauron's forces captured us and he said he was going to..." he trailed off, feeling more than a little idiotic.  
  
Hagrid raised an eyebrow. "Legolas, huh? Well, yeh'd better come along with me ter see Dumbledore. Donno how yeh all got inter the forest in the first place..." He picked up Aragorn, grumbling, and started to carry him off toward a castle visible in the distance. Legolas helped Gimli to his feet and they trailed after him, followed by the kids.  
  
"What do you think Professor Dumbledore will say, Hagrid?" Lavender asked anxiously. "Legolas will be all right, won't he?" She batted her eyelashes at Legolas, who was sure he was blushing by now.  
  
A snort issued from the girl on his other side, who had a cloud of thick brown hair. "Honestly, people can be so *silly* sometimes," she muttered under her breath.  
  
Gimli looked slyly at her. "What's the matter, don't you want a date with Legolas too?" he asked, carefully keeping a straight face.  
  
Legolas's blood ran cold. "Y-you-you *heard* all of that?" [Oh no, I'll never live this down...] Gimli smiled wickedly and his worst fears were confirmed. As they continued marching toward the castle, Legolas had a feeling that he was marching toward impending doom.  
  
A/N: The next chapter should start incorporating some of my really funny ideas, but for this one I just couldn't resist the thought of Lavender and Parvati going all mushy over Legolas. I tried to put my stuff in the HTML format for the italics and bold, but my dad said you have to put these little symbols before every paragraph and I'm just too lazy to go to all that trouble. If you know an easy way to do it, feel free to review. If you absolutely loooove this story and can't wait for another chapter, feel free to review. If you absolutely haaaate this story and can't wait for it to end, feel free to review. Questions? Comments? Suggestions? Complaints? Feel free to review. I think that made it pretty clear what I'd like you to do after you finish reading, so get to it! Coming as Soon as I Can Write Something Remotely Resembling Coherent Sentences: Chapter Three. 


	3. Truth or Dare

Disclaimer: I don't own any brilliant fantasy series that have been made into wildly popular movies.  But neither do you, so we're even.

A/N: Hello and welcome to the third chapter.  Tonight (or whenever you're reading this) I invite you to join me for a time of wonder, excitement, and just plain insane stupidity.  Speaking of which...I believe it's time to start the chapter.

Truth or Dare

Dumbledore steepled his fingers in that maddeningly wise and benevolent way that wizards spend years perfecting.  "Okay, let's go over this one more time," he said mildly to Gimli and Legolas.  Aragorn had dropped off in his chair about half an hour earlier, but since he never had anything relevant to contribute to any conversation anyway it didn't make much difference.

Legolas sighed.  "Okay, I'm Legolas and I'm an elf.  He's Gimli and he's a dwarf.  Sleeping Ugly over there is Aragorn."

"Please continue," Dumbledore said mildly as if he wasn't hearing this for the seventh time.  Legolas was beginning to wonder if his voice had any setting but "mild."

"And we all live in Middle-earth and...uh...there are these four idiot hobbits that we try to keep alive because we feel sorry for them and one of them has the Ring of Power so we constantly have to save him from getting himself killed.  And there's this annoyingly superior wizard that always shows up when we really need him but not when we could really use him.  And we all run around trying to get away from orcs and then fighting them when we can't get away, but somehow we manage to attract thousands of females along the way."

"Speak for yourself," Gimli muttered angrily, slouching even further down in his chair.

Legolas put on his concerned look.  "Oh, Gimli, I'm so sorry I forgot.  That's only me and Aragorn.  Though on second thought, most of the characters do have some ardent supporters.  In fact, you're probably the only one other than Sam who—"

"Boys, boys," Dumbledore interrupted mildly, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses.  Legolas and Gimli stopped at once, having learned to be wary of Gandalf's twinkling look long ago.  It usually meant something was about to happen that they wouldn't like.  Nor was the premonition amiss this time.

"I, for one, believe you," he continued.  "But you realize we can't trust you without proof."

"So what do you suggest?" asked Gimli impatiently.  Dumbledore gave him a serene smile.

"Patience, young grasshopper.  I was just getting to that point.  My suggestion is that we use Veritaserum.  Don't worry," he added at the looks on their faces, "it's totally painless."

Gimli looked at Legolas.  Legolas looked at Gimli.  Gimli shrugged.  "What the heck, why not?"  Legolas gave him a dirty look for stealing the line he'd been about to say, but nodded in agreement.

"All right then," said Dumbledore briskly, standing up.  "Let's all go on over to Severus's office and we can get started.  If you would be so kind as to wake up your friend..."  He stood by the door waiting.

Legolas reached over and shook Aragorn's shoulder.  "Come on, we're leaving."  Aragorn yawned and rubbed his eyes blearily.

"Where are we?  Where are we going?  Who am I?" he asked sleepily.  Legolas and Gimli as usual ignored the pointless comments and questions that accompanied Aragorn's return to consciousness, or indeed any other time of day.

"We're going to prove our identity," Gimli told him as they each grabbed an arm and heaved him up out of his chair.  Aragorn looked puzzled.

"But I already know who I am," he complained.  "I am Aragorn son of Arathorn, King of Gondor, Strider—"

"Save it for the Veritaserum, Aragorn," Legolas ordered, starting to pull him to the door where Dumbledore was still waiting, looking more mildly bemused than ever.

Five minutes later, they were down in the dungeons standing in front of a forbidding-looking door.  "I hear a fell voice on the air," Legolas whispered to Gimli, who snorted.

"Why can't you ever just say 'This place gives me the creeps' like normal people?" he demanded.  Not deigning to answer this slur on his Elf heritage and senses, Legolas turned away with a sniff.

Dumbledore had faithfully ignored this exchange and now reached out to knock on the door.  A few seconds later it was answered by a surly-looking man with hair almost as bad as Aragorn's.

"What do you—oh, Headmaster," he amended quickly when he saw who it was.  "I was not anticipating a visit from you today."  His piercing black eyes moved to the trio standing behind Dumbledore.  "And who are these?"

"Visitors, Severus," Dumbledore replied mildly.  "I was hoping we could use some of your Veritaserum.  May we come in?"  Severus's eyebrows arched, but Dumbledore walked past him into the room without waiting for a reply.  He beckoned for Gimli, Aragorn, and Legolas to follow.  When they hesitated, he assured them, "Don't worry, Severus doesn't bite."

[Hard,] Legolas finished as they entered somewhat nervously, except for Aragorn who still wasn't sure what was going on.  On shelves around the room were jars of various creatures—or former creatures—that gave the room a strong resemblance to Sauron's tower room.

"Veritaserum, eh?" Severus asked, stepping over to a cabinet in the corner of his office.  He opened it, rummaged through the many bottles there for a second, and emerged victorious with a small bottle.  "Here it is."  He handed it to Dumbledore.

"And three spoons," Dumbledore requested mildly.  Throwing everybody suspicious looks, Severus took some spoons from a nearby table and gave them to Dumbledore as well.

"Now let's see," Dumbledore mused as he opened the bottle.  "Three drops apiece should do it."  He carefully measured three drops of liquid into each spoon and distributed them.  "Down the hatch."

Legolas favored his spoon with a dark look, but resignedly swallowed its contents.  He wasn't quite sure what happened after that, because he started to feel a little drowsy...and very, very anxious to tell the truth to anyone who asked for it.

Dumbledore waited until all three pairs of eyes glazed over, then sat down with satisfaction.  "Now," he said mildly, steepling his fingers, "let's go over this one more time.  You are?"

Half an hour later, Dumbledore and Snape were absolutely convinced that their guests from Middle Earth were telling the truth.  "Well, that's a load off my mind," Dumbledore sighed, leaning back in his chair.

Snape didn't agree.  "But Headmaster, they don't belong here.  And they certainly can't stay here!"  He looked distastefully at the zoned-out comrades.  "How do we get them back into their books where they belong?"

"Books?" Dumbledore inquired mildly, frowning slightly.

"Tolkien.  You've never studied Muggle literature?"

"Alas, no," Dumbledore sighed.  "That particular avenue of pleasure has been denied me.  But," he added, brightening, "I do know about other Muggle things.  Like lemon drops!"

Snape rolled his eyes.  "Tell me, Headmaster, do you ever have any fun?"

"Oh, yes.  Of course.  Every week I rearrange my sock collection to make sure my sock-sorting faculties are still in good condition.  It's quite stimulating, I assure you."

"I'll take your word for it," Snape muttered.  "But I meant *real* fun.  Like this."  He leaned toward Aragorn.  "Who is your secret love?" he demanded.

Aragorn's blank eyes stared straight ahead.  "Arwen, of course.  I mean," an internal struggle seemed to be taking place, "Éowyn.  No wait, it's Arwen.  Éowyn."  His brow furrowed.  "Arwen.  Éowyn.  Arwen!  Éowyn!  Um...both, I guess."

Even Dumbledore had to smile as this battle raged, but Snape wasn't done yet.  "What do you do in your spare time?" he asked, turning on Gimli.

"Well, in the morning after breakfast I usually spend an hour or two insulting Legolas.  Afterward we scream and run away from orcs for a bit and when we're done with that I insult Legolas for a while.  And when we have nothing to do in the evening around the campfire I take some time to insult Legolas," he finished.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.  "Busy schedule," he remarked mildly.  "Here, let me try one."  He turned to Legolas.  "Is it true that you sing alto?"

A/N: Hi, this and the next two chapters were originally going to be one chapter but then I decided the original title didn't fit most of the material so I split it up.  Also five chapters look cooler than three.  Coming Up Next: Who Was That Hot Elf Anyway?


	4. Who Was That Hot Elf Anyway?

Disclaimer: Greetings. I am the great J.K. Rowling. No wait, I am the incredible J.R.R. Tolkien...except he's dead...never mind...Oh, who am I kidding? If I owned Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings, somebody would be publishing this as a novella.  
  
A/N: Another chapter in your very favorite story. The title for this might seem kind of random, but I'll explain it in the author's note at the end, and then you'll see it's really random. Just kidding...Enjoy!  
  
Who Was That Hot Elf Anyway?  
  
That night in the Great Hall, the Veritaserum had worn off and our heroes were beginning to remember with great chagrin some of the things they'd talked about while under the influence. "I can't believe I told them I'm a soprano," Legolas grumbled.  
  
Gimli looked up with interest, but Dumbledore was starting to talk and the whole hall fell silent. "Good evening, all," he began. "As some of you may know, today we received three very...special guests. Their names are Legolas, Aragorn, and Gimli. Please stand up and wave so everyone can see you," he requested mildly.  
  
A little embarrassed, they stood up and waved slightly at the assembled students, who all stared at them. Legolas couldn't help noticing that the female half in particular was staring at him. Except, it must be noted, for McGonagall, who immediately forgot her two-year crush on Professor Flitwick at first sight of Gimli.  
  
"Due to the unexpected nature of their visit, we have no sleeping quarters prepared for them," Dumbledore continued. "Therefore, we've picked the people most likely not to kill them from annoyance before the night is out. Until further notice, our guests will be rooming and eating with the Gryffindors." The occupants of one of the long tables cheered loudly. To Legolas's dismay, Lavender and Parvati blew him kisses from the other end of the Gryffindor table as the three headed uncertainly for the only empty chairs they could see.  
  
"Hi, I'm Fred," said one of the redheads sitting across from them. "And this is George." He indicated his twin, who nodded cheerfully at them before reaching for a dish four feet away. "Do you know any good practical jokes?"  
  
Legolas shot Gimli a warning look. "NO," he growled, kicking Gimli meaningfully. Gimli totally ignored him.  
  
"Well," he reflected, "let's see. There's the time I-"  
  
"Don't start," Legolas warned, but it was too late.  
  
"-replaced Legolas's shampoo with orc slime. Or the time Frodo-"  
  
"He's lying," Legolas said loudly. "Gimli never played a practical joke in his life." He stomped a little harder on Gimli's foot than was strictly necessary to make him shut up. George looked at him with some concern.  
  
"Don't you like pranks, then?" he inquired pityingly.  
  
"I don't believe in them," Legolas replied firmly, daring Gimli silently to mention the time he'd put worms in the apples for Merry and Pippin's second breakfast. The twins looked rather disappointed, but soon turned their attention to sneaking as much food off each other's plates as they could. The three visitors were left to their own thoughts for the remainder of dinner.  
  
When the last of the food had disappeared, they got up and followed the Gryffindors through twisting corridors to their common room. Aragorn took one look at the squashy armchairs and dropped into one gratefully. Legolas and Gimli took a few minutes to explore the room before they sat down, which was a mistake. As the students filled the room around them, almost all of the armchairs were quickly taken.  
  
Gimli glanced back at the fireplace and saw that only one armchair was left. Darting a quick look at Legolas, he sprinted for it. Unfortunately, Legolas was closer and his hypersensitive elf ears picked up the sound of Gimli's heavy breathing as he dashed across the room to claim the chair. He turned around as Gimli neared the home stretch and easily beat him to the chair in a few strides.  
  
"Oh, hello there Gimli," he said pleasantly as Gimli panted to a stop in front of the armchair. "Did you want this chair?" A low growl was his only reply. "I'm so sorry, it's already taken. Maybe you could sit over there." He pointed to the hard wooden chairs around the study tables at the other end of the common room.  
  
"You think you beat me here because you're faster, do you? Well, let me tell you something, my fine archer friend. THAT WAS DELIBERATE! DO YOU HEAR ME? DELIBERATE!!!!!! I *MEANT* TO LET YOU HAVE THAT CHAIR!" By this point, most of the common room was staring at Legolas and Gimli, and snickers were being muffled in isolated corners. Gimli looked around the room with haughty dignity, drawing himself up to his full height, or lack of it. "I will now retire to bed," he informed the listening students before turning on his heel and storming up the spiral staircase...  
  
"Hey!" the prefect called after him. He stopped on the third step. "Well?" he demanded impatiently. "What is it?"  
  
"Um...that's the staircase to the girls' dormitories. Boys are on the left."  
  
"I knew that," Gimli said furiously, storming back down the staircase and across the common room to the boys' side. "I was just testing you to make sure *you* knew." He stomped upstairs, trying to look like he didn't care that everyone would laugh about this for hours after he was gone.  
  
"Fourth landing," the prefect yelled helpfully. Gimli disappeared into the fifth-year dormitory. Somewhere in one of the isolated corners that had recently muffled snickers, two boys, one with glasses and one with red hair, groaned while the brunette girl sitting with them told them it wasn't nice to react that way and she was sure it would be a learning experience for them.  
  
Legolas and Aragorn, of course, knew nothing of this. In fact, Aragorn knew nothing of almost everything. He sat near-comatose by the fire for the rest of the evening while Legolas introduced himself to various girls and generally made himself the life of the party.  
  
They finally went to bed around eleven. As Legolas started to get into bed, he reflected that the dinner conversation with Fred and George about practical jokes had obviously done Gimli more harm than good, at least where Legolas had concerned. It had been a long time since he'd had his bed shortsheeted.  
  
As soon as the last of the guests went upstairs for the night, the three fifth-years in the isolated corner began to talk animatedly about the day's events.  
  
"Who are these people anyway?" Ron asked Hermione in an undertone.  
  
Hermione looked maddeningly superior. Ron was used to this, as maddeningly superior looks were her specialty, but that didn't mean he had to like it. He smoldered while she tossed her hair back and began to explain. "Well, I'd say it's pretty obvious to anyone who knows anything about Muggle literature-"  
  
"You, in other words," Ron muttered. Hermione continued as if she hadn't heard him.  
  
"-that they're Lord of the Rings characters." Harry looked up.  
  
"Say what?"  
  
Looking hopeful, Hermione asked, "Oh, so *you* at least know something about great literature?"  
  
"Well, kind of," Harry admitted. "I mean, it sort of sounds familiar..." He trailed off under Hermione's glare of baleful disappointment.  
  
"I just cannot believe this," she snapped. "Don't tell me you don't know about Lord of the Rings." Harry and Ron looked at her in guilty silence. "J.R.R. Tolkien!" she exploded. "How can you not know about this? The Lord of the Rings saga is one of the most famous fantasy series of all time!"  
  
"Didn't they make a movie of that?" Harry wondered.  
  
Ron got a dreamy look in his eye. "Blimey, I wish *I* had books and movies about me," he said in a wistful tone.  
  
"THAT'S NOT THE POINT! The point is that you ought to be more aware of the Muggle world. I mean, I read all 4,000 pages of the collected works of J.R.R. Tolkien when I was 3 years old-"  
  
"You and Albert Einstein," Ron said sardonically. It was the last straw for poor Hermione. She jumped up, the books on her lap flying in all directions.  
  
"LORD OF THE RINGS HADN'T EVEN BEEN *WRITTEN* YET WHEN ALBERT EINSTEIN WAS 3 YEARS OLD!" she screamed, her face briefly going a lovely shade of purple. Ron cowered. Eyes blazing, Hermione marched past him and swept up the stairs to the girls' dormitories. When she was almost to her landing, she tripped, distracted by her fury, and fell flat on her face.  
  
"That was deliberate," Ron whispered to Harry. He cracked up, and they both laughed until they cried.  
  
A/N: Okay, the title wasn't totally random, but it was pretty close. Let me explain. It was one of those things in old radio shows like the Lone Ranger where after he rode off into the sunset someone would ask, "Who was that masked man anyway?" So since this chapter is all about everyone trying to find out who our heroes are...Yeah. Moving on because that was pretty random. Coming Right Afterward Since I Wrote These At The Same Time: Elves Just Wanna Have Fun. 


	5. Elves Just Wanna Have Fun

Disclaimer: Look, I don't own Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter, so stop sending me fanmail, okay? **is mobbed by screaming fans who then disappear as she wakes up from the happiest dream of her life** I didn't mean that last part and I really *wish* I didn't mean the first part, but alas, I am a mere mortal and totally bereft of copyrights.  
  
A/N: Here it is...the long-awaited latest chapter in the story of three maniacs stranded with another bunch of maniacs. What will happen to our intrepid trio? How will they ever get back to Middle Earth? Do they really want to? The answers to all these questions will...be delayed until a later chapter. Bwa ha ha...  
  
Elves Just Wanna Have Fun  
  
The next morning, Gimli awoke to the sound of singing. From the sound of the pure, clear soprano he knew immediately who it was. "Legolas, shut up!" he grumbled.  
  
"But it's such a great day," Legolas said enthusiastically, beginning to sing again as he gathered various articles of clothing and bottles.  
  
Gimli glared at him ferociously. "Do you know what time it is, elf?" he inquired in a dangerously soft tone. "It is approximately THREE O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING! Shut up or you'll wake the whole dormitory." He seemed oblivious to the fact that he was doing quite a good job of that without a bit of help from Legolas.  
  
"Philistine," Legolas muttered as he picked up his stuff and headed for the door. "Absolutely no appreciation for art." He shook his head sadly, reaching for the door handle.  
  
"Wait, where are you going?" Gimli demanded suspiciously. "You're not trying to get away from me, are you?"  
  
"Oh, never," Legolas assured him. "I'm just going to go wash my hair. After all, we elves need to take care of our natural beauty." Rolling his eyes, Gimli mumbled something about "sissy, pointy-eared monster" which Legolas chose to ignore. He stepped outside and closed the door after him just as the rest of the dormitory started to stir.  
  
"Wha...who...huh?" commented Harry intelligently. He sat up in bed, his hair sticking out in two-inch spikes. "Anyone know what time it is?"  
  
Several others were sitting up now, yawning and looking around for whoever had disrupted their REM cycle. Normally Gimli would have just let them sit there miserably, but he felt like doing something considerate for a change. "EVERYONE GO BACK TO SLEEP!" he bellowed. "It's only three o'clock, it's not time to get up yet! Just pay no attention to me."  
  
Somehow, this didn't seem to help matters. All the people in the room were awake now and there seemed to be a general feeling of hostility toward Gimli for some reason. With a falsely cheerful grin, Gimli looked at the circle of murderous, sleepy faces.  
  
"Uh, that's right, you just all go on back to bed now..." One of the boys was groping under his bed for something. He produced a long, thin piece of wood which he brandished with maniacal glee.  
  
"STUPEFY!" he roared, pointing it at Gimli. A blessed hush fell over the room, broken a few seconds later by heartfelt applause from everyone but the now-unconscious dwarf.  
  
Five hours later, Gimli dragged himself into the Great Hall for breakfast, trailing after the squeaky-clean Legolas and Aragorn, who had finally woken up. Legolas waved cheerily to swooning girls all over the hall while Gimli gnashed his teeth in helpless anger and jealousy.  
  
"Good morning, students," Dumbledore began mildly from the teacher's table as soon as everybody was settled. "Today I have some good news and some bad news." The students looked at one another in somewhat nervous anticipation as Dumbledore continued.  
  
"The bad news is that yesterday Professor Parva threatened to quit her job here if people kept throwing paper airplanes and spitballs during Defense Against the Dark Arts class." The hall went absolutely quiet. "And the good news is that..." Hundreds of expectant faces leaned toward him. "This morning she made good her promise and at this very moment is on her way back to King's Cross Station," Dumbledore finished with a satisfied smile. Loud whoops of joy echoed off the stone walls as students high- fived each other in ecstasy.  
  
"Due to this not entirely unwelcome circumstance, we have no Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for the present, so all those classes are canceled until further notice." More yells and catcalls. Aragorn raised his head and stared in Dumbledore's general direction, looking as if he was actually thinking. [What is he plotting now?] Legolas wondered.  
  
As they started to dig in, Legolas noticed that three boys were arriving late. The smallest was handsome in a cruel, arrogant sort of way, while the two other boys walking next to him like bookends closely resembled some orcs he'd killed just last week. "Hey," he said, nudging Fred, who was sitting with them again. "Who's that?" He indicated the sneering kid and his two cronies, who were now seating themselves at the adjacent table.  
  
Fred looked distastefully at him. "That creature-and believe me, I use the term loosely-over there is Draco Malfoy, the most demonic kid I have ever known. Just steer clear of him." He turned back to his toast, shuddering in disgust.  
  
[Draco Malfoy, eh?] Legolas mused. He noted that about one third of the girls eating breakfast were following Malfoy's every move and batting their eyelashes if he chanced to look their way. [Well, Malfoy, you have a few too many admirers for my comfort. After all, can't have girls ignoring me, can we? I reckon it's about time you get what's coming to you...]  
  
A plot sprang fully formed to his mind. It was simple but brilliant. And it could be accomplished with materials readily at hand...He looked up and down the table until he located what he was searching for.  
  
"Hey, Aragorn," he called down the table. "Please pass the jam." Aragorn passed him the jar with-yes! A tablespoon that was just perfect for his purposes.  
  
Eagerly, Legolas unscrewed the lid of the jam jar and took a heaping spoonful. Then, keeping in mind everything he knew about marksmanship, he moved the spoon into precise alignment and took careful aim at the back of Malfoy's head.  
  
Elves are deadly shots with jam. The goo hit Malfoy right between the ears. SPLAT! For a moment, Malfoy sat there in shock before he registered that his hair was dripping fruit. Those few seconds were all Legolas needed. Suppressing an evil grin, he poked Gimli and handed him the spoon.  
  
"Here, Gimli," he said brightly. "Congratulations, you've won a free spoon." Gimli held the spoon up before his face in awe and examined it while Legolas shook with silent laughter. If he'd timed this correctly, everything should come together right about...now.  
  
Gimli held the spoon high over his head in exultation. "Yes! I did it!" he cried proudly just as Malfoy turned around furiously, sporting his new strawberry blond highlights. They locked gazes for a minute before Gimli realized he had said the worst thing possible under the circumstances and shrank back in horror.  
  
Malfoy was breathing quickly, his eyes narrowed to slits. "I'll take care of *you* after breakfast, dwarf," he spat loud enough for the whole hall to hear. "Crabbe and Goyle don't like people who start food fights, *do* you, boys?" They were unsure for a second, but then the meaning of the question somehow penetrated their thick skulls and they shook their heads menacingly. Malfoy glared daggers at the badly frightened Gimli while trying to comb seeds and pulp out of his ex-perfect hair. Then he turned around and continued eating exactly as if he didn't know everyone in the school was watching him.  
  
"I thought you didn't believe in practical jokes," Fred murmured to Legolas. He grinned evilly.  
  
"I don't. I believe in poetic justice." George nodded sagely and winked at him before demolishing his fifth slice of bread.  
  
Apparently, Gimli wasn't the only one who was dissatisfied with the way breakfast was going. "Cheapskate house-elves," Ron grumbled, slathering butter on his toast. "Couldn't give us anything better than plain old bread. I mean, what happened to the eggs and bacon and stuff like that?"  
  
But Legolas wasn't concerned with bacon and eggs at the moment. He leaned forward urgently. "Did you say elves?" he demanded of Ron, who shared an "Uh-oh, here we go again" look with Harry.  
  
"House-elves," corrected Hermione promptly, eager to leap into a conversation with someone who might be even slightly interested in house- elf rights. "They do all the cooking around here and it's just terrible because they don't get paid and they have to wear tea-towels instead of regular clothes and they-" Legolas was no longer listening.  
  
"Take me to the kitchen," he commanded peremptorily. Hermione looked a little taken aback, but consented readily. Despite Ron and Harry's attempts to stop her, she finished her toast hurriedly and led him off down one of the many corridors he hadn't seen yet.  
  
She chattered breathlessly the whole way. "...And nobody wanted to join S.P.E.W. because they don't want to have to think about the elf labor they indirectly sanction by using products made by elves or, worse yet, owning their own house-elf..." At proper intervals, Legolas nodded or "mmm-hmm"ed his agreement and approval, but inside his twisted little mind he was already hatching a plot.  
  
At last they reached a picture of a bowl of fruit. Hermione tickled the pear and, to Legolas's amazement, the picture swung outward revealing a staircase. They descended it for a few minutes in silence and at last arrived in an enormous room that was undoubtedly the kitchen.  
  
A small, ugly creature ran up to meet Hermione with an excited squeak. "Hermione has come to visit Dobby! Oh, Dobby is so very, very, very, very happy to see Hermione. He has missed her so!" After giving her a hug around the knees, he turned to Legolas.  
  
"But who is this friend of Hermione? Dobby has never seen him before!" he exclaimed, looking up at him. It was a long way to look, but he managed it somehow.  
  
Legolas thrust out his chest. "I am the almighty Legolas," he proclaimed. "I am an elf and I have come to deliver you from servitude. Together we can take over the worl-uh, campaign for elf rights," he amended hastily, seeing Hermione's face. He'd have to plan the revolution in secret.  
  
"Oh, almighty Legolas is great and good!" cried Dobby shrilly, gazing at him even more intensely. "Almighty Legolas will rescue his people from bondage!"  
  
"Hush!" hissed Hermione, looking around at the bustling kitchen. "Do you want everyone within three floors to hear you?"  
  
"Oh, yes, yes, yes!" shrilled Dobby, dancing in circles. "Dobby just cannot hold it all in! Finally house-elves will all be free!"  
  
[You got that right,] Legolas thought grimly. "I think we'd better go, Hermione," he said aloud. "You'll be late for your next class." Reluctantly Dobby said goodbye and they climbed the stairs back to the painting.  
  
Hermione excused herself and headed off for Potions class while Legolas wandered around until he found his way back to the common room and managed to get in by charming the Fat Lady with his extraordinarily good looks. Then he picked the lock on someone's trunk and got a few sheets of parchment, a quill, and a bottle of ink. Going back downstairs, he seated himself at one of the tables and got to work, his tongue between his teeth. After about ten minutes of hard work he had produced this:  
  
~~~~~  
  
TEN REASONS WHY I SHOULD BE YOUR LEADER INSTEAD OF HERMIONE GRANGER  
  
1. I am an elf.  
  
2. I can come up with a better organization name than S.P.E.W. Right now I favor something like "Shoot the Humans With Arrows Until They All Drop Dead and We Reign Supreme" (SHWAUTADDWRS).  
  
3. I say forget wages and clothing, go for world domination.  
  
4. I am tall.  
  
5. I am blond.  
  
6. I am hot.  
  
7. I am humble.  
  
8. I have arrows.  
  
9. I know how to use them.  
  
10. I will give you some and teach you how to use them.  
  
~~~~~  
  
Legolas was very satisfied with the overall tone of this document and set to work recopying it. At the end of an hour he had about thirty copies and was ready to start campaigning. Gathering them all into a neat stack, he nipped upstairs to grab some Spellotape and then headed out into the hallway to begin promoting awareness of elf superiority.  
  
A/N: Hi, everybody. **waves at assembled readers**  
  
Everybody: Hi, Princess Eilonwy. **wave back**  
  
Now what did we learn from this story today?  
  
Random Reader #1: **waves hand frantically** Oooh, I know, I know, call on me!  
  
Okay, what did you learn?  
  
Random Reader #1: I learned never to wake Gimli up at 3 AM!  
  
Very good. Who else learned something from the story?  
  
Random Reader #2: I learned that jam is a formidable weapon in the hands of an elf.  
  
That's absolutely right. What else did you learn?  
  
Random Reader #3: I discovered that the author of this story is completely insane and belongs in the looney bin.  
  
**keeping temper under tight rein** Riiigght. Veeery good. Now run along and play. **readers scatter before Eilonwy can get hold of a sharp object** I'm glad you all learned something. If you didn't learn anything from this story, don't be discouraged because I would be really scared if you divined any valuable life lessons from this. Hopefully Coming As Soon As I Can Get The Time To Write It: Chapter Six. 


	6. Meanwhile, Back at the Hall

Disclaimer: The characterses is all mine, preciousss!  Yesss, I gots them for a birthday present.  They belongs to me, did you hear that, ME!  Rowling and Tolkien wouldn't give them to me.  But it was my birthday and I wants them so much so I kills them!  And takes the copyrightses!

A/N: Anyway.  Welcome to the sixth chapter.  Hopefully this story is still amusing you, because I've got plenty of ideas to go.  If you still like it, tell me and I'll write more.  If you don't like it, tell me and I'll write much, much more.  Ha ha ha ha...

Meanwhile, Back at the Hall...

They sat and watched Legolas and Hermione leave in silence.  After a few seconds, Harry spoke, looking rather shell-shocked.

"Well," he said, "that ruins the rest of the year.  We'll _never_ get either of them to shut up now."  Ron and Gimli nodded in sympathetic agreement, but Aragorn's attention, as always, was somewhere else entirely.

Poking Harry, he asked, "Who is that exceedingly good-looking young woman over there?"  He pointed to one end of the teacher's table.  Harry followed his finger and stared intently for a moment before shrugging helplessly.

"Sorry, can't help you.  I don't see any good-looking women over there.  And believe me, I would have noticed if there were any," Harry replied apologetically.  He, in turn, poked Ron.  "Hey Ron, see any hot chicks over there?"

Ron also scrutinized the indicated area for a while, then gave up with a shake of his head.  "Nope.  Sorry, Aragorn."  He went back to the toast he'd stolen from Hermione and Legolas's plates looking rather disappointed.  But Aragorn, apparently, was not to be deterred in his pursuit of an eligible date.  He continued without seeming in the least discouraged by the others' reactions.

"Gimli," he murmured, nudging him.  "Gimli?"  Gimli seemed to have gone to sleep on his plate, so Aragorn kindly woke him with an elbow to the ribs.  Unfortunately, while this did the trick, Aragorn had forgotten to compensate for dwarf height and thus gave Gimli a nasty knock on the back of the head, driving his face deeper into the butter.  The dwarf awoke, spluttering with indignation and dairy product.

The two boys choked with laughter, which they suppressed too late.  Gimli's defense mode was in full swing.  "I DID THAT ON PURPOSE!" he yelled furiously amid the chuckles from Fred and George across from him.  He jumped on the table and stomped in impotent rage.  "BUTTER IS VERY GOOD FOR YOUR COMPLEXION!"

"Just like jam is for your hair," Harry murmured to Ron.  Unfortunately, due to the acoustics of the Great Hall, this remark was heard by every student at Hogwarts in the ringing silence following Gimli's little scene.  Ron gave Harry a sympathetic look and ducked under the table to be out of the way when the lightning struck.  Harry gulped.  It was only a matter of seconds before—

Draco Malfoy turned around slowly, majestically, eyes scanning the Hall for the origin of the insult.  Many girls waved shyly as his eyes traveled over them, but Harry was much too scared to notice this revolting development.  Instead, he was merely hoping fervently to survive the day so he could kill Legolas for starting the whole jam thing.

"Who," Malfoy demanded in a steely voice, "said that?"  His gaze gravitated to the Gryffindor table.  For some reason, he appeared to think the Gryffindors more likely to insult a Slytherin than anyone else.  "POTTER!"  Half the Hall jumped, including Harry.  The top of Ron's head could be seen for a second before he went back to cowering and whimpering under the table.

Harry decided it was time for the overused defiant so-what-if-your-daddy's-rich-and-evil-I-can-still-beat-the-pants-off-_you_ act.  He bravely stood up on his chair and faced Malfoy like a fifteen-year-old, if not a man.  "You're right, Malfoy," he sneered, matching him admirably in contempt.  "I said that.  Want to know why?  Because I HATE YOUR GUTS!"  He heard a light smattering of applause from the other Gryffindors, but he didn't turn around to acknowledge it.  Locking eyes with Malfoy, he stared him down fiercely.

Alas, it wasn't quite a fair fight.  While Harry had the advantage of being a better person, Malfoy had Crabbe and Goyle.  At a glance from him, they stood up on either side of him and cracked their knuckles.  This made Harry rather nervous as it reminded him strongly of a documentary he had seen on the Discovery Channel over the summer.  The show had been called "A Theoretical Reconstruction of Neanderthal Dominance Rituals."

"We'll take care of you later, Potter," Malfoy spat, glaring battleaxes at him.  "You and that midget friend of yours."

"DWARF!" screamed Gimli in frustration.  This was just not his day.  He already had an appointment with Crabbe and Goyle after breakfast, and worse, Malfoy had just implied that he was somewhat shorter than average.  This was a slight that Gimli simply could not stomach and he would no doubt have tried to teach Malfoy a lesson if Aragorn, showing a rare moment of sense, had not held him back.

"No, Gimli," he panted, restraining the enraged dwarf with a strength born of desperation.  "Do you want to live through breakfast?  Wait...don't answer that."  Amazingly, Aragorn seemed to have actually done something useful.  By the time he let go of Gimli, Malfoy had calmed down enough to realize that killing Harry and Gimli during breakfast was probably not a good idea.

He gave his victims-to-be a cold, cruel smile.  "See you later, Potter."  Turning back to his breakfast, Malfoy proceeded to completely ignore everyone in the Hall, who were staring from him to Harry and back again.  Gradually, the chatter in the Great Hall built back up to its normal level.  After all, Malfoy's death threats against Harry were nothing new, having been relatively common since first year.

With the main conflict resolved for the present, Aragorn reverted with characteristic doggedness to the previous topic of conversation.  "I can't believe you don't see the woman," he pursued.  "For goodness sake, she's right over there.  The dark-haired one with the glasses."  Adoringly, he stared at the end of the table where his apparently invisible lady love sat.

Harry rolled his eyes, wondering how anyone could be that obsessed.  After all, he certainly didn't spend all _his_ time thinking about Cho, Cho, or Cho.  However, to satisfy Aragorn, he dutifully took another look, which left him as confused as ever regarding who the heck Aragorn was talking about.  

"The only person with glasses over there is Trelawney, Aragorn.  I don't know who—oh, no!  Wait just a minute, now."  Horrified by the implications of his revelation, Harry repeated the fateful sentence slowly.  "The only person with glasses over there is...Trelawney.  You can't mean..."  He trailed off weakly, clutching Ron's arm in terror.

"No," Ron breathed, also staring at Trelawney as the truth dawned on him.  "Blimey, Aragorn, she's—she's—she's—"  He abruptly collapsed in his chair, burying his face despairingly in his hands.  "Oh, it was terrible!  Terrible!  She was crystal gazing for me just last week—" he sobbed into his palms uncontrollably and took a moment to recover, "—and she said...she said I would MARRY A BRUNETTE GRYFFINDOR GENIUS!" he howled in anguish, once more beginning to slide under the table.  Harry caught the grief-stricken Ron and pulled him back up onto his chair, shushing him sympathetically, but it was too late.

"Oh, Ron," Parvati simpered from the other end of the table, twirling her perfect, long brown locks in flirtatious modesty.  "I didn't realize you felt that way about me.  Not that I would consider myself exactly a whaddayacallit, _genius,_ but I'm certainly flattered by the compliment.  Why, maybe I could even tutor you sometime."  She coquettishly mulled it over, her empty head tilted fetchingly to one side.  "Say, tonight at ten in the common room?  Alooooone?"

Making a warding-off cross with his fingers, Ron backed away from Parvati hastily.  Unfortunately, as some guy named Benjamin Franklin once observed, haste makes waste.  Meaning, in this case, that Ron forgot to get up before backing away and thus fell over his chair, ending up on the floor in an admirable display of typical Ron Weasley clumsiness.

The Hall was really getting its money's worth of entertainment from the Gryffindor folks this morning.  Most of the students burst into appreciative applause and snickers, while the Slytherin table, the loudest of the lot, left out the appreciative applause.  "I'm sure you meant to do that, Weasley," Malfoy drawled sarcastically.  

Fred and George held Gimli down while he muttered darkly about "young wise-acre, make fun of a Dwarf, will you? let's see what you'll say when you meet my _ax_! maybe THEN you'll learn some manners."  He lovingly fingered the haft of his ax out of habit until he remembered it was up in the dormitory and subsided in embarrassment.

"Hey everyone!" Malfoy announced, standing up on his chair.  "Ronald Quentin Weasley would like you all to know that he's certainly sprawled on the ground _deliberately_ because lying on the floor is _veeerrry_ good for your posture."  He gave Ron a nasty grin before sitting down again.

"Oh, shut up," Ron muttered, his face going beet red.  Without another word to anyone, he picked himself up and dashed from the Hall, no doubt in order to avoid Parvati's unwelcome advances.  Everyone blinked after him for a few seconds before going back to their breakfasts, hiding huge grins.

Parvati, however, was still staring over at their end of the table.  Harry wondered if he was really _that_ good-looking until he remembered that Ron hadn't given her an answer to her tutoring offer.  Tactfully, he leaned across Aragorn and told her, "I really, really, really don't think Ron is interested in your offer right now.  Maybe some other time."  [Like when Snape starts giving out candy in class.]

Unbelievably, the chaotic events taking place around him hadn't shaken Aragorn's fixation with Trelawney.  "She kinda reminds me of Arwen, you know," he observed dreamily, tilted head resting on his hands.  "Something about the dark hair...and the way she sorta glides around...and that mysterious look...and those misty eyes that make her look like she's always about to cry."  He heaved a deep sigh of nostalgia, then abruptly changed moods as he seemed to think of something for the first time.  Turning to Harry, he asked, "What does she teach?"

The question caught Harry off guard, since most people of his acquaintance lived in fear of Trelawney's class and refused to speak its reviled name, merely referring to it as You-Know-What.  "Um...uh," he stammered brilliantly.  "Sorry, it's just so hard to say it.  She teaches..."  Swallowing hard, Harry finally worked up the courage to say it.  Beckoning Aragorn to lean in close, he bent over secretively after checking to make sure nobody was listening.  

"Divination," he whispered hoarsely, fearful of the consequences that would undoubtedly follow if anyone heard.  Luckily, his whisper was quiet enough that even Aragorn apparently had trouble hearing him.

"I can't hear you," Aragorn said impatiently.  "Speak louder."  He leaned toward Harry again expectantly.

His mouth dry with apprehension, Harry whispered the dreaded name once again.  "Divination."  At this point, Harry realized that he had done something with possibly disastrous repercussions.  In his haste to get this terrible conversation over with, he had neglected to warn Aragorn not to speak too loud, a mistake that would haunt him at night to the end of his days.

"Oh, DIVINATION!" Aragorn cried in understanding.  "Why didn't you just say so?  You'd think there was something wrong with saying the word DIVINATION!  See?" he added, turning toward Harry, who was just following Ron's earlier example and diving under the table.  "Nothing happened.  DIVINATION DIVINATION DIVINATION!"

Even Aragorn could not ignore the total pandemonium that followed this display of reckless bravery.  All four enormous tables were overturned as students ran screaming in every direction, mindless with terror.  Amid the chaos and wreckage sat Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, serenely surveying the Hall with mysterious smiles that were the product of two years of rigorous study under Professor Trelawney at lunchtime.

Strangely enough, Aragorn didn't seem to mind the panic and confusion going on around him.  Rather, he seemed to be taking advantage of it to work his way up to the teachers' table almost unnoticed.  However, Harry didn't have time to wonder what Aragorn might be up to, as a group of hysterical fourth-years turned over the Gryffindor table at that very moment.

With his cover gone, Harry sprinted for his life across the length of the Great Hall.  He was almost to the door—

"STOP!" bellowed a voice that Harry recognized as Dumbledore in his scary, don't-mess-with-me mood.  Harry had only seen him like this once before—back in October, when some students had raided his lemon drop supply.  "Will everyone _please_ get back in here?  I have an important announcement."

Sheepishly, the recently escaped students made their straggling way back into the Hall, where Dumbledore waited, once more smiling beatifically.  "Now," he remarked mildly, "for my announcement.  Remember what I said earlier about Defense Against the Dark Arts classes being canceled?"  Hesitant nods from various students.  "Never mind."

Groans filled the room as everybody began to make another mad dash for the doors.  This time nobody stopped them, and the Hall quickly emptied of students and teachers alike.  Save for a few people, namely Aragorn, who was staring at Trelawney worshipfully, and Trelawney, Parvati, and Lavender, who were still sitting calmly, seemingly in meditation.

Aragorn coughed lightly.  This achieved the desired effect, as Trelawney blinked up at him in surprise.  "Who disturbs my meditation?" she trilled angrily, seeming to see him for the first time.  Her large dragonfly eyes examined him suspiciously, but suspicion quickly changed to curiosity.  "Ooooh...who disturbs my meditation?" she repeated with a totally different emphasis and tone of voice, batting her long eyelashes.

This was more like it!  "Good morning, fair lady," Aragorn replied, kneeling to kiss her ring-encrusted hand.  Women always loved old-timey chivalry coming from him.  "You may not have noticed me from my humble position across the room, but I assure you that all through breakfast I had eyes for nothing but you and my toast.  My young friends inform me that you are known by the lovely name of Professor Trelawney."

Trelawney blushed, lowering her eyes slightly in affected coyness.  "Oh, please call me Sibyll," she purred warmly, clinging to his hand a bit more than was strictly necessary to get up.  After a few seconds of silence, Aragorn realized he was probably supposed to say something at this junction.  What was it?  Ah, yes!

"A beautiful name for a beautiful woman," he remarked gallantly, opting to keep her hand between his a little longer.  Smiling with pleasure at the first compliment she'd ever gotten in her life, Trelawney looked up at him adoringly, eyes going even mistier than usual.

She seemed to remember suddenly that a compliment was required in return to keep the exchange going smoothly.  "Oh, as far as not noticing you, believe me, although I was distracted by my connection with the other world," her hand waved vaguely to indicate the nebulous regions of the spirit world she received her "predictions" from, "I felt your aura immediately as soon as the others had left and the spiritual clutter was removed.  Am I right in believing, dear sir, that you are a patron of the arts of prediction and, perhaps, have the Sight yourself?"

Aragorn blinked.  "I'm an Elf-friend," he offered, slightly at a loss for words.

"Ah.  Close enough," replied Trelawney wisely, doing her best to look like she knew everything there was to know about Elf-friends.  "And what, pray tell, may be your name?"  Expectantly, she waited to hear what she was absolutely sure would be the most melodious syllables she had ever heard.

If she wanted a long string of syllables, melodious or otherwise, she certainly was not disappointed.  Clearing his throat in preparation, Aragorn rattled off the list with the ease of long practice.  "Good lady, I am Aragorn son of Arathorn of the house of Valandil Isildur's son, also known as Longshanks, Strider, Elessar, the Dúnadan, the Elfstone, and Isildur's Heir.  But, of course, you may call me Aragorn," he added to show that this wealth of titles had not gone to his head, such as he had.

"Aragorn," she murmured, rolling the name around on her tongue contemplatively.  "Aragorn...It seems to me that I have heard your name before...ah, yes!  One evening as I sat conversing with my otherworldly acquaintances—"

Parvati, who had heretofore remained watchfully silent, suddenly jumped up as if she was sitting on a red-hot poker (she wasn't, more's the pity).  "Oooooooooooooooooh, Professor Trelawney, ooooooooooooooooooooh, I've just remembered!  Last month when you were crystal gazing—" she was becoming almost hysterical and had to pause for breath, "—you said the spirits told you that you would meet a tall, dark stranger and—"

"Shut up, you silly girl," said Trelawney irritably.  "Can't you see I'm about to get my first date in ten years?  Now," she continued sweetly, turning back to Aragorn, "as I was saying before I was so RUDELY INTERRUPTED—"  Lavender and Parvati shrank back, squeaking slightly in alarm.  

"—it was revealed to me in a vision that soon one by the name of Aragorn would appear and solve all my problems by sweeping me off my feet and we would both live happily ever after."  Her enormous eyes somehow grew even bigger as she gazed earnestly up into Aragorn's face.

He smiled suavely at his latest in a long line of conquests.  "Sounds good.  How about tonight at seven?"  While some chivalrous souls might frown on this forward approach, Aragorn had learned from hard experience that it was best to set the date before the lady in question met Legolas.  Although, in this case, she hardly seemed likely to forget him...

"Oh, that sounds wonderful," Trelawney breathed, starting to lean against him.  "I'll meet you in the entrance hall, and then we can go to Smaug's Bar and Grill, and then we can go to the Three Broomsticks, and then..."  Aragorn just smiled and nodded, having learned long ago from an annoying but wise wizard that just smiling and nodding was the key to life. 

"Tonight, then," he remarked quite unnecessarily as he bowed to her before taking his leave.  Whistling softly, he strode over to the door and quitted the room, leaving the three cerebrally challenged females staring after him in varying emotional states.  Aragorn walked down the hallway—

And was collared by an unknown assailant who pushed him back against the hard stone wall.  Breathing quickly with surprise, Aragorn looked into the wild-eyed, menacing face of...Professor Severus Snape.

A/N: Yep, another long chapter.  I couldn't help myself, I was just getting way too much mileage out of Aragorn's obsession with Trelawney (Go figure.  But she does kinda remind you of Arwen, doesn't she?).  This is going really well, I have material now for four or five more chapters.  And honestly, I make half of this stuff up as I go along, so I'll probably end up adding another chapter or two in there somewhere.  As far as the first chapter goes, my first reviewer was kind enough to point out that Sauron is only an eye.  Thanks.  I'm too lazy to go back and change it, but nitpickers can read "Saruman" for "Sauron" if they want.  **PROJECT ALERT**  I'm compiling a list of common abbreviations and terms used on fanfiction.net that new users might not know for a Scout project, so please include some in your reviews! *coughREVIEWREVIEWcough*  Seriously, folks, four reviews on a five-chapter story doesn't look good, so feel free to write a long, rambling, very complimentary review telling me that you think my story is absolutely hilarious.  You could all learn a lesson from kippinator, who not only reviewed this story glowingly, but went and reviewed almost all of my other ones as well.  So with all that said, go write your reviews or forever hold your peace...until the next chapter.  Speaking of...*ahem* Coming Hopefully Fairly Soon Since My Friend Will Kill Me If It Doesn't: Chapter Seven.


	7. Poster, Poster on the Wall

Disclaimer: *ducks under computer desk to avoid screaming fangirls with WE WANT LEGOLAS!...OH, AND HARRY TOO placards*  Don't kill me!  I don't own them, it's Rowling and Tolkien you want!  *mob goes to hunt down Tolkien, not at all bothered by the fact that he's dead*

A/N: Aaaaaaaaaand it's another chapter!  I'm still trying to come up with a good name for the story, but I'll get it eventually.  *sigh*  Apparently I use up all my title creativity on chapter names.  Anyway...for those who actually took the request for abbreviations and terms seriously, please make sure to include the meanings with them, as this is as much for my benefit as anyone else's.  With all that said, let us proceed to the matter at hand...leaving you in suspense about Aragorn and Snape for a while as we rejoin our favorite Elf.

Poster, Poster on the Wall...

Legolas stepped out of the Gryffindor common room carrying his stack of papers.  Excitement coursed through his veins at the thought of the noble task he was undertaking.  Why, years from now his list could very possibly occupy a place in history alongside such legendary documents as the Declaration of Independence, the Magna Carta, and Meriadoc Brandybuck's _Herblore of the Shire_!

Now the most important question was...where should he put up a sign first?  He wanted to make sure every person, demon, and ghost in the school was aware of the terrible treatment of house-elves and the fact that he, Legolas Greenleaf, was the only one to save them.  Maybe he should have put a picture on the signs so everyone could see how uniquely qualified for the job he was, what with his perfectly braided hair, great smile, and seemingly endless supply of arrows.  Would his campaign get as much attention without a photo of the hottest Elf in existence?

Quickly casting away such doubts before they could discourage him, Legolas began to stride down the hallway, but stopped.  If he put up one of the signs right outside the common room, every Gryffindor would be sure to see it at least once a day, reminding them of how wonderful he was.  As if they could ever forget...

He quickly whipped out the Spellotape and took the sign on top of his sheaf.  Squinting in concentration, he examined the stone wall thoroughly, searching for the optimum spot to post something of great importance.  Aha!  The perfect place.  Not too far from the ground out of respect for vertically challenged people like Gimli, but high enough that it would definitely be noticed by everyone who approached the common room.  Legolas tore off a few pieces of tape and arranged them carefully on the back of his precious sign.  Now all that remained was to stick it on the wall, making sure it was aligned perfectly.

Reverently, Legolas placed the sign on the wall and pressed to make sure it would stay.  [One small step for an Elf, one giant leap for all Elfkind!]

Fluttering gently, the paper fell to the floor.  Legolas stared in astonishment and horror.  It wasn't sticking!  What could this mean?  Frantically, he snatched it up again and slammed it back onto the wall, wondering what in the name of Elbereth was going on.

As the sign once more detached itself from the wall, the Elf made a strangled noise of frustration and started preparing to pull out large handfuls of his flawlessly dyed blond hair.  This attracted the attention of the Fat Lady, who had been carefully filing her nails.  She glanced at him in annoyance, but her look quickly melted into sappy adoration when she saw who he was.

"What's the problem?" she cooed, batting her eyelashes at him in a manner that made Legolas extremely nervous.  Fangirls were fine any day, but this was going a bit too far.  Still, at the moment he was willing to take any help he could get.  Giving her his best handsomely crestfallen look, he pointed wordlessly from the stone wall to the sign lying on the floor and generally looked helpless.

Her quadruple chins quivered with sympathy.  "Oh, you poor thing!  Were you trying to put that up?"  Legolas nodded silently, wondering whether he should make his lower lip tremble a bit for effect.  Apparently, it wasn't necessary, as she seemed to be paying quite enough attention to him without benefit of puppy-dog pout.  "I'd find another spot if I were you, dearie," she advised kindly.  "That wall's enchanted to repel signs, don't you know?"

Legolas snorted to himself.  [If I knew, would I be trying to hang something here?]  "No, I'm afraid I didn't know," he said aloud, flashing the Fat Lady a patented Elf Grin, guaranteed to make any female melt into a small puddle of goo.  He wasn't quite sure whether it would work on paintings, but so far this one was reacting very favorably.  Now if he could just convince her to get rid of that stupid anti-sign spell...

"Well," he asked sweetly, "couldn't you just make a little tiny exception for _me_?"  He shook his head slightly to make his hair fall into just that state of untidiness that fangirls found so irresistibly cute.  The Fat Lady seemed to be having trouble keeping her facial muscles under control—her eyes were crossing a little and her jaw was going slack.  Yes, it was definitely having the desired effect.

She smiled adoringly at Legolas but, much to his disappointment, shook her head as firmly as possible under the circumstances.  "Sorry, but I really can't do that.  Do you have any idea what those Weasley boys would do if they could put up signs here?"  Legolas gulped in horror at the thought.  She certainly did have a point there, but he wasn't ready to give up yet.  After all, he couldn't quit while there were house-elves to rescue!

He decided to try a last-ditch effort.  Now the success of his mission depended on just how smitten this lady was with him.  Hopefully enough to fall for an incredibly stupid story...Legolas took a deep breath and hoped he could make this sound believable.  
"You see, my lady, normally I would love to tarry here a while and talk with such a lovely companion as yourself—" The Fat Lady simpered and blushed.  Legolas rolled his eyes mentally, but considered this a good sign and bravely soldiered on.  "—But you see, I am on a quest to help the downtrodden and oppressed and..."  He was really getting into the whole noble quest thing now and warmed to his part.  "I cannot rest or find pleasure in anything until my task is accomplished."  Lowering his head in muted sorrow and slumping his shoulders at just that precise angle calculated to inspire sympathy, Legolas allowed himself a small sigh to emphasize how deeply he felt for the downtrodden, oppressed house-elves.

The Fat Lady looked as if she were about to cry.  "Oh, dear," she said sadly.  "I'm sure I don't know what I can do to help a great warrior like you."  Legolas inclined his head modestly, wondering how long he could hold his laughter in.  Suddenly the Fat Lady brightened.  "Unless—"

"Unless?" Legolas prompted helpfully, a feeling of excitement stirring in him at the thought of actually getting to hang his beloved sign.  It had certainly taken long enough...

Blushing like a teenager, the Fat Lady lowered her eyes.  "I suppose just this once I could nullify the spell," she murmured, smiling dreamily at nothing in particular.  "But only in special cases, you understand—"

"I understand perfectly," Legolas assured her jubilantly.  It was all he could do to stop himself from clicking his heels together in triumph.  He had done it!  Now he would finally get to reap the fruit of his labors...

Suddenly all business, the Fat Lady instructed, "All right, now put the sign where you want it."  Legolas obeyed meekly, once more centering his beautiful sign perfectly on the wall.  Ah, what a work of art!  "Just hold it there..."  The Fat Lady concentrated, wrinkles appearing between her brows.

"WHAT HAVE WE HERE?!"  Both parties jumped at the sudden appearance of Argus Filch, who was eyeing them suspiciously.  "Going to hang a sign, were we?" he asked nastily.  "Going to break school rules, weeeere we?"  Leaning in close, he fixed Legolas with an evil glare of doom to match even Gandalf's.  Legolas gulped with fear, eyeing Filch's cat, Mrs. Norris, apprehensively.  He'd always been somewhat leery of cats, and this was definitely not your average feline.  In fact, Legolas had a feeling that this particular cat could trace her heritage directly back to some Balrog or other.

Deciding that this was not a good time to tell the truth, Legolas forced another dazzling grin and said, "Of course not.  How stupid do you think we are, anyway?"  [Wait...don't answer that.]  Sadly, dazzling grins apparently had no effect whatsoever on a hardened case like old Argus Filch.  The caretaker sneered collectively at Legolas, his sign, and the world in general in a manner that had taken him thirty years to perfect.  It showed.

"I won't answer that," Filch rasped, his lip curling more than Legolas would have thought humanly possible.  "You are aware that hanging a sign of any shape, size, or texture near a common room is prohibited by Article 682, Section 45, Paragraph 23.18 of _Dos and Don'ts at Hogwarts_?"  Legolas had a suspicion that _Dos and Don'ts at Hogwarts_ had never been read by anyone other than Filch, even Hermione, but he wasn't about to bring that up under the circumstances.

Shuffling his feet in what he thought was a pretty good imitation of shame, Legolas hung his head and confessed, "No, actually I didn't know.  And let me just say at this point that if I had had any inkling whatsoever that I was breaking school rules in the process of my good and noble campaign to improve many lives and make the world a better place, I would never have embarked on it."  Legolas paused to dash an imaginary tear from his eye and continued, "Good sir, I am heartily sorry to have offended you in this manner and I assure you that I will immediately give up my foolish ideas of helping the poor make better lives for themselves."  [There...that should do it.]  Smugly, Legolas prepared a speech of forgiveness to give when the man broke down in tears at the thought of his inadvertent callousness.

"About time!" Filch snapped sharply.  The Elf's mouth dropped open in astonishment and his head jerked up abruptly at the response.  "You idealistic young idiots," the caretaker continued, giving him a look that would have sent him straight to the halls of Mandos in Valinor if looks could kill.  "Always thinking of other people, what kind of imbecile gives a newt tail about the underdog?  I tell you, kids these days..."  Legolas resisted the strong urge to inform him that he was, in fact, approximately two thousand four hundred thirty-seven years old, opting instead to escape at the next convenient opportunity and argue the facts of the case later.

Filch was now pacing up and down in front of his captive audience, obviously enjoying every minute of his harangue.  "Now when _I _was a young lad we didn't hold with any of this standing-up-for-others business.  I remember walking to school two hundred miles through the snow uphill both ways with polar bears attacking every five minutes and me with only my old tin lunchbox..."  Seeing his opportunity, Legolas waved a farewell to the Fat Lady, clutched his stack of signs tightly, and made a break for it, still in shock at the thought of Filch as a boy.  It seemed like such an oxymoron...

Angry shouts followed him down the hallway, but Legolas ran with a speed born of desperation and soon outdistanced the pursuing Filch.  Once he felt he was safe, he leaned against the stone wall, panting for breath and thinking that, on the whole, he had felt much safer back when he was still trying to save Middle-earth from the evil Lord Sauron.  After all, even Sauron himself surely couldn't compare with Mrs. Norris!

"Eh, what's all this now?" a voice inquired at Legolas' elbow, making our hero jump in surprise.  Had Filch found him so soon?  If so, all was lost…Slowly, fearing the worst, Legolas turned to face the owner of the voice and found himself face to face with—

Another painting.  What the heck was going on with this castle, anyway?  At least the Fat Lady had been in her own picture!  This fellow looked like Denethor only saner, his graying hair hidden under the weirdest helmet Legolas had ever seen.  Somehow, this contrasted strongly with the painting of fluffy pink unicorns in the background, but the Elf managed to keep a straight face and, summoning his best imitation of dignity, asked, "And who may you be, sir?"

The knight proclaimed proudly, "Know you, barbarian knave, that I am Sir Cadogan, the bravest and most valorous soul in all of Christendom!  Or pagandom, for that matter…but I'm getting off track again.  Where was I?  Oh yes.  STAND AND FIGHT, YOU MANGY CUR!"  Sir Cadogan seemed to have forgotten that he was stuck in the frame and began advancing on Legolas, tiny sword drawn in righteous indignation.

Legolas blinked, still somewhat bemused by this latest turn of events.  However, he quickly realized that he could use this "Sir" Cadogan to his advantage.  After all, someone who had spent all his existence roaming from wall to wall would certainly know the best spots to post important messages!  Now, how could he get this guy on his side?

"Um, O great Sir Cadogan," he began, racking his brains for something suitably flattering, "I have sought you out because of your…uh…matchless bravery, courage, valor, and all that.  I hope that I, a humble barbarian cur, can benefit from your infinite wisdom and thus complete my noble and good quest for which I have striven for so long."  Convinced that he had given a pretty good speech, Legolas made a courtly bow, complete with flourishes.  Sir Cadogan beamed at him.

"Well, my boy," he said, "mayhap I can aid you in this quest of which you speak.  And if we are to complete this task, there must be no delay.  We attack at dawn!"

Wondering about the wisdom of having chosen such an ally, Legolas volunteered, "O noble and mighty Sir Cadogan, methinks it is already nigh ten o'clock."  Sir Cadogan assimilated this, but recovered quickly.

"Very well, we attack _now!"  _Legolas smiled to himself.  This was more like it!  Sir Cadogan pointed his sword to the right and yelled, "Onward and upward, my lad!"  He began running in the direction indicated, but stopped a few paintings down the hallway and looked back at Legolas dubiously.

"Where exactly are we going?" he inquired.  Legolas repressed a sigh and steeled himself for what was shaping up to be a very long day.

A/N: I'm really sorry it took so long to post this chapter, but apparently the best way to assign schoolwork is to give students approximately ten projects in the last six weeks of the year.  This has the small side effect of wreaking havoc on any plans for fanfiction, so I've been stuck writing papers and such for the last month.  Of course, trying to work on about fifteen stories at the same time doesn't help either…Hopefully I will post some of those soon.  For anyone who wanted to see me write LOTR, I have one up called "Eight Characters in Search of an Exit" and will hopefully be posting about five more very soon, so have patience!  Meanwhile, I really do need those abbreviations.  Things I need definitions for: MST, C/C, and YAOI.  Plus anything else you can give me, of course…Coming Really Really Soon If I Have Anything to Say About It: Chapter Eight.


	8. Visitors Can't Be Choosers

Disclaimer: Those upstarts Rowling and Tolkien may own all those other weak-willed cowards, but not me!  I'm my own dwarf through and through!  Owning _me_ *sniff*...how preposterous...*falls off computer chair due to the fact that his feet don't reach the floor*  THAT WAS DELIBERATE!

A/N: Yeah, that was dumb.  I seem to be running out of even remotely amusing disclaimers, but oh well, at least I'll never get sued.  Guess what?  This chapter still tells you absolutely _nothing_ about what happened to poor dear Aragorn!  But before we begin this singularly uninformative-as-regards-Aragorn chapter, I'll respond to some of the reviews I didn't last time (or any time before that):

kippinator: I'm sorry you're an Aragorn fangirl.  Wait...I think I phrased that wrong...let me try again.  I extend my deepest condolences to Aragorn on the subject of you being his fangirl.  Sorry...wrong phrasing again.  Okay, one more time: I am deeply sorry for what I did to Aragorn in Chapter 6 and hope that you, as a fangirl of his, can forgive me for making him fall for Trelawney.  There.  *satisfied nod*

technetium: I like your name.  Thanks for the good reviews and all the help on abbreviations—I should have known it was Mystery Science Theater 3000!  I love that show!  Unfortunately the evil folks at DirecTV have conspired to eliminate the Scifi Channel from our package or whatever you call it, so it's anyone's guess whether I'll ever be able to see it again.

Fireblade: Thanks for all your great reviews!  Please don't kill me, I'll try to update more quickly in the future.

Adrienne-Lillian/plushies: Yup, Aragorn and Legolas are in very deep trouble.  Very, veeeeery deep trouble.  And they're not the only ones, either...

Akira Gown: Thanks for your help with the abbreviations, do you know exactly what YAOI and YURI stand for?

Siri: Is being obsessive a good thing?  Sorry, I will do my best to write faster from now on.

Mrs. Greenleaf: Cool name!  Thanks, I was hoping to add at least a little originality to my story with Aragorn/Trelawney.  Actually, it was my friend "A" who gave me the idea by constantly making fun of Arwen.  Numerous reviews are good...numerous reviews are very good...

A: Why do I bother responding?  Here's an update, are you happy now?

If you think you deserved a longer response, you probably did.  If you didn't get one at all, I'm really sorry, but I'm working on it a little at a time.  And yes, I know it's a little late to start responding, but I'm not in the habit of doing so regularly, so bear with me as I try to catch up.  [Note: the more reviews you leave, the longer response you'll get.  Am I being obvious enough?]

Visitors Can't be Choosers

"Curse that brainless Ranger," Gimli muttered as he was swept across the length of the enormous Great Hall by the flood of people trying to escape the word "divination."  What had Aragorn been thinking?  [Thinking?  Aragorn?] the dwarf answered himself sardonically.  [Why would he do a thing like that?]

Still, whether or not the Ranger could technically be held responsible for his actions, he had certainly put Gimli's life and sanity in danger.  After all, trying to fight one's way through a crowd of panicked Hufflepuffs was hardly a walk in the park!  Especially when one was so short that one kept getting trodden on by stampeding students...

A wave of relief swept over Gimli as he saw the doors of the Great Hall only yards ahead.  Perhaps once he got out of this dread room he would have some room to breathe!  O joyous prospect...

His reverie was interrupted by the last sound he wanted to hear at that or any other moment—the voice of Draco Mayfly or whatever the evil boy's name was.  Although Gimli didn't even know him and had only heard him speak a few times, he was already absolutely convinced that the child was Sauron's most faithful servant, or at the very least a direct descendant of Saruman.  What he heard next didn't improve his opinion in the least.

"MIDGET!" Mayfly yelled over the roar of the crowd, his voice cracking slightly with the intensity of his hatred.  "YOU MAY RUN, BUT YOU CAN'T HIDE!  I _WILL _FIND YOU!"  Gimli gulped, too scared even to think of what he would do to Legolas for getting him into this if he ever saw him again, much less inform this brute yet again that he happened to be a _dwarf_.  "I WILL GET YOU!  I WILL PAY YOU BACK FOR THE...THE _JAM!" _The enraged voice was cut off abruptly, the owner apparently having been run over by a bunch of first years, but Gimli could have sworn he heard primitive grunts of agreement coming from the same general area.

This was not good.  This was really not good.  In fact, this was quite possibly the worst situation of his life.  Assuming both he and this Mayfly character survived the stampede, how could he escape from what would undoubtedly be a fate worse than death at the hands of the demented teenager?  Maybe he could explain how he had been framed by that son of a wood-elf.

[What?  _Explain?_  Oh, I can just see it now.  "Oh, no, not me.  I wouldn't do something mean like that!  It was the Elf, blame it all on the Elf, he shot the jam and then handed me the spoon, honest!"  Yeah, that would go over really well,] Gimli thought sarcastically, racking his brains for another option.  Aha!  His trusty ax!...Which was currently in the Gryffindor sixth years' dormitory.  Well, that ruled out fighting; somehow Gimli didn't think even he, the mightiest, bravest, strongest warrior ever to walk the face of Middle-earth, could handle those two Orcish-looking henchmen without his ax. 

As he meditated morosely on his ever-decreasing chances of survival, the group of Hufflepuffs he had been trapped in the midst of suddenly evaporated with a figurative puff of smoke, leaving him free.  Gimli couldn't quite believe that he had survived the riot so easily, but there it was—he was quite alone.

Wait...what was that?  Apprehensively, he turned on the spot—and was bowled over by a fresh wave of screaming kids.  Apparently some had tripped on their way out, distracted by the sheer horror of the word that had just shattered what was left of their mealtime peace, and were just now escaping at last.  The dwarf lay helplessly on the cold stone floor, trying his best to avoid being trampled too badly.

"Ow...ow...THAT WAS DELIBERATE!  I _MEANT _TO FALL FLAT ON MY FACE!" Gimli howled, startling a few of the more jumpy students into fleeing all the more quickly.  By the time the doors ponderously slammed shut, he was alone in the entrance hall.  Oh, sweet peace and quiet!  He simply lay motionless for a moment, partly due to the fact that he didn't trust himself to stand up yet and partly to savor the wonderful feeling of not being trampled, knocked out, yelled at, or blamed for throwing fruit pulp at others.

Eventually he got up with some difficulty, muttering about "friends, who needs 'em anyway, never there when you can use 'em," and massaging his back.  Well, he had achieved his first objective—living through breakfast and the disastrous ramifications thereof.  The next item on the list was to somehow get back to the common room and get his ax, without which he was most certainly doomed.  Now where was the staircase he'd come down with the Gryffindors?  It had been right there on his left...

Not anymore.  Gimli stared in horror at the place where the stairs had been.  Aside from that landmark, he had no idea whatsoever how to get back to the dormitory.  Or, for that matter, anywhere else in this darn castle, which was reminding him more and more of Orthanc every minute.  The whole place had an indefinable aura of menace toward people who were dumb enough to get lost in its labyrinth of hallways and thus consequently were doomed to wander until they rotted, when their bones would serve as a warning to nervous first years...

With an effort, Gimli wrenched his thoughts away from such disturbing topics and instead tried to concentrate on more encouraging ones like how the heck he was going to make it all the way to the Gryffindor common room when he was utterly lost.  Hmm...he could start by picking a random direction and setting off in hopes of finding someone willing to help a poor lost soul.  This was really the best, indeed the only idea he could think of, so he decided to go for it.

The best way to go about choosing a course randomly was, of course, to simply spin around, stop abruptly, and head off in whichever direction he happened to be facing.  Gimli was expert at this, having done it many times while trying to convince his companions Legolas and Aragorn that he actually knew where he was going, so he had no trouble.  He closed his eyes, hoped he wouldn't bump into any walls, and began spinning.

Approximately 7.835 turns later, he stopped and sat down abruptly, more than a little out of breath from the unaccustomed exercise.  Still, dwarves are natural spinners and it was only a matter of seconds before he struggled to his feet, gasping slightly and trying without success to uncross his eyes and make the hall stop whirling around him.  When the dizziness abated, Gimli found himself facing a stairway on his right that wound its way down into the depths of the castle for as far as he could see.  He wasn't quite sure how a staircase leading downwards could help him get to Gryffindor Tower, but at the moment he was game to try anything.

Slowly and uncertainly, he began to descend the winding staircase.  The whole thing reminded him unpleasantly of both the events that had led to him being in this Eru-forsaken place and the trip to see Professor—what was his name, Snipe?  Snap?  Now there was an experience he didn't want to repeat...

Unfortunately for Gimli, the word "trip" was singularly appropriate at the moment.  As he made his way downstairs, his preoccupation with the horrors he had bravely endured the previous day blinded him to the fact that an anonymous poltergeist had quite "accidentally" spilled a large puddle of water directly in his path where some student—or dwarf, as the case might be—could slip on it and provide him with some entertainment.  Of course, the dwarf didn't stand a chance against that unstoppable force of nature, clumsiness, and as a result found himself tobogganing down the stairs beard first in a most undignified and decidedly undwarvish way.

"Ow!  Ouch!  Ai!  Oh, if I ever—aah!—get home alive the—ow!—WRATH OF THE DWARVES will descend on this place!" he bellowed, tumbling down the hard stone steps.  The place in question apparently didn't care much about the wrath of the dwarves, because the steps seemed to get harder every second, if such a thing were possible.  Gimli had the distinct and uncomfortable feeling that the castle was, in fact, retaliating deliberately for some injudicious remarks he'd made last night comparing it unfavorably with the Glittering Caves of Aglarond.

As he reached the bottom of the staircase at last, his dignity in shreds, Gimli heard a voice he'd hoped never to hear again.  "And what have we here, boys?"  Slowly and with a definite sinking feeling, he raised his head and looked directly into the pale, pointed face of his newest nemesis, Draco Malfoy.

"Ohhhh, did the poor little midget fall down the stairs and hurt himself?" Malfoy asked with mock concern, bending over him and making the sappiest face Gimli had ever seen, even in Rivendell and Lórien.  Looking over Malfoy's shoulder in horror, Gimli saw the large, vacant faces of his henchmen, Crabbe and Goyle.  He was in for it now, he thought resignedly, trying to remember some of those Elvish relaxation techniques Legolas had taught him.  It didn't work.

"Boys," Malfoy suggested evilly, "maybe the midget needs help getting up.  Shall we help him?" Gimli decided he didn't like the sound of this at all and began struggling to his feet, silently cursing himself for not bringing his ax to breakfast with him.  It reminded him of an old dwarvish saying that, translated, went something like "Oh, what a tangled web we weave when we at home our weapons leave."  If he ever got back to the dormitory alive, he vowed, his beloved ax would never be out of his sight again.

Drawing himself up proudly, Gimli began to stride purposefully down the corridor—or tried to.  Ten centimeters later, he bumped into the all-too-solid bulk of Crabbe and fell backward with a cry of indignation.  He opened his mouth to salvage what was left of his pride, but Malfoy beat him to it.

A mischievous glitter in his eyes, he said sympathetically, "Of course that was _deliberate._  Wasn't it, _midget_?"  Malfoy smiled coldly at him, a smile that said very clearly, _You're dead meat._

Gimli knew he was in grave danger, but he could stand it no longer.  He simply had to say something.  "I, you disrespectful young man," he cried, making himself as tall as possible under the circumstances, "happen to be a _dwarf._  Not a midget, but a dwarf!  Is this understood?"  Gimli fixed Malfoy with an intimidating glare, but it seemed to have no effect.  The boy just smirked some more and gestured to Crabbe and Goyle to come closer.

No longer smiling, Malfoy said in a voice that made Gimli's blood run cold, "I told you I would have my revenge for what you did to my perfectly arranged blond hair.  How do you expect me to get fangirls if I have..._jam_...in my hair?"  He automatically ran his hand through said perfectly arranged blond hair as if checking to make sure no vestiges of strawberry remained.  Gimli saw a large clump right above his left ear, but if Malfoy hadn't noticed he certainly wasn't going to tell him.

All thoughts of jam were banished from his mind as Malfoy drew his wand slowly, obviously enjoying the terror of his victim.  Crabbe and Goyle followed suit, also slowly—apparently they had forgotten which end to hold the wand by.  "Well, boys," Malfoy drawled, "it's time to get down to business.  I think our midget friend here has a bit of an attitude.  A big head, one might say.  Don't you think we ought to trim it down to size?"  Gimli gulped.  Unless he was very much mistaken—and he never was—they were talking about...

"Don't worry, shrunken heads are all the rage," Malfoy sneered pitilessly, pointing his wand at Gimli as Crabbe and Goyle closed in to prevent his escape.  He opened his mouth to utter some horrible curse—

And was knocked over backwards, a stunned expression on his pale, pointed face.  On either side of Gimli, Goyle and Crabbe grunted and went down similarly, hitting their thick skulls on the stone floor.  Gimli, however, noticed none of this, having had the rotten luck to be directly in the path of the figure that had just tumbled down the stairs at top speed.  He lay still for a moment, somewhat dazed.

"What the...?" said Neville Longbottom weakly.

By the time Gimli had recovered, the boy had gotten up and was surveying the three unconscious Slytherins with some surprise.  For a minute, Gimli couldn't remember where he had seen him.  Then he remembered—he was one of the Gryffindor boys in the dormitory.  What was his name...oh yes, Neville!  From his few hours at Hogwarts, he gathered that Neville had been unanimously voted "Most Likely to Succeed as a Circus Clown" by his class.  Apparently with good reason...

"Um...uh..." Neville stammered, staring at Gimli.  "Er...sorry?"  He glanced once more at Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, then back to Gimli.  "I really didn't mean to, I was just—"

"Sorry?  _Sorry?"_ cried Gimli.  At that moment, he thought he had never been happier to see another person in his life.  "Sorry?  You saved me from a horrible fate!  You have rescued me!  You have...Wait a minute."  A thought struck him.  "You're a Gryffindor, aren't you?  So...you know the way to the common room!  You could even take me there, right?  Right?"  He got to his feet excitedly.

Neville backed away a little, disconcerted by Gimli's enthusiasm.   "Um, sure, I guess," he replied hesitantly.  

"And you know your way all over the castle?" Gimli asked, feeling that for the first time in twenty-four hours something was going right.  If he had a guide, no matter how klutzy, he might be able to survive the wrath of Malfoy unscathed.

"Uh...yeah, most of the time."  Gimli smiled cheerfully at Neville and slapped him on the back, causing him to choke and splutter a little.

"You know, Neville," he said genially, "I can already tell that you and I are going to get along just fine.  _Just _fine."  Neville gulped and led the way to the common room.

A/N: Okay, I am officially annoyed.  I was trying to find the first chapter so I could fix the Sauron/Saruman error once and for all and—guess what?—I apparently deleted it.  I have a feeling that that mistake may be losing me readers…Oh well.  Thanks to all you dedicated folks who kept reading this story even though I depicted Sauron as a flesh-and-blood person in the beginning.  Do any of you have any suggestions as to how I could explain that I really do know better now before the readers give up in disgust?  I was thinking maybe if I put it in a review it would work, but I'm not sure...so I need feedback on that.  Do you guys read the reviews on a story before you review it yourself?  I often do so I can get a feel for what people are saying (i.e. if the story has flames coming out the ears I usually try to be nice), but I don't know how many other people do.  

Second order of business: I keep telling my friend, who reviews this story as "A", to work on an original story she started during school and publish it on FictionPress.com.  One problem: she doesn't have her own e-mail address, her parents won't let her give theirs out, and I'm reasonably sure e-mail is necessary for an account.  If you know differently, please tell me.  Also, I need many reviews urging her to beg her parents for a free address on Yahoo! or someplace like that and pestering her to keep writing.  

Third order of business: the title of this story.  It's by far the lamest title I've ever come up with, and I'm trying my best to think of something else that fits the plot.  I'm not sure why this particular one is giving me so much trouble, since I usually have no trouble thinking of titles.  Maybe that's why—I normally think of the title before the story.  

Anyway, forgive the ridiculously long note and give me feedback on the three topics above and I will be very pleased.  Also, I know YAOI and YURI are both basically the same as slash, but I do want exactly what they stand for if possible.  More rambling: do you ever get tired of the fact that every single time J.K. Rowling describes Malfoy she uses the phrase "pale, pointed face"?  I do.  It's right up there with Dumbledore and "mild".  Coming Pretty Soon: Chapter Nine.


	9. Birds of a Feather

Disclaimer: Rowling owns the Defense Against the Dark Arts post.  Tolkien owns the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

A/N: Finally, the chapter you've all been waiting for...we rejoin Aragorn and Snape!  Why is Snape angry?  What will happen?  Will Aragorn ever figure out what the heck is going on?  This should answer these questions as well as is humanly possible!  I don't seem to be getting much response on my "feedback" questions, so I'll keep repeating them until someone responds.  If anyone has a good suggestion for the story title, please include it in your review.  I would greatly appreciate ideas.  Might not use them, but I'd appreciate them.

kippinator: Thanks for the review!  I was horrified by the errors you pointed out to me in the last chapter, and I assure you that such horrors will never again befall this story.  If you hadn't pointed it out...*shudder*  It would have been horrible.

Birds of a Feather

Aragorn was somewhat surprised by the sudden attack, since he had hardly been expecting one, but regained his composure in a matter of milliseconds as any good Ranger would—luckily, Ranger reflexes didn't require much in the way of brains.  Snape's face was roughly two inches from his own, livid with rage, and Aragorn thought that he might well be the most fearsome opponent he had ever come up against.  Hopefully, this wouldn't come to blows...

"Excuse me," Aragorn said with as much dignity and oxygen as he could muster, his back stinging with fresh scrapes from the stone wall.  "You seem to have accidentally grabbed hold of my trachea..."

"No accident, I assure you," Snape sneered, his cold black eyes flashing menacingly at the Ranger.  "I have a question for you, _Mis_ter Aragorn son of Arathorn."  Aragorn opened his mouth to explain that the title "mister" was not necessary, but Snape tightened his grip slightly and Aragorn decided that the customs of Middle-earth could wait for another time.

Leaning in even closer so that Aragorn could see every strand of greasy hair on his head, Snape hissed softly, "I couldn't help noticing that your little...conference...with Dumbledore was almost simultaneous with his announcement of a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.  Now, _did you or did you not apply for the position?"_  

Aragorn stared at him, taken aback for the second time in forty seconds.  Of course, he would have told the truth without hesitation under normal circumstances, but this was hardly normal.  The man looked ready to tear out his throat if he answered in the affirmative, and Aragorn was rather attached to his throat.  He had had it for a long time, and he felt they worked rather well together.

He decided that the old trick of hemming and hawing was most appropriate and immediately put it into action.  "Well, um, actually, you see, it was like this..." he began, trying his level best to think.  It didn't work, but he decided he probably deserved a B+ for effort.

Most unfortunately, Snape didn't seem fooled by his stalling.  If anything, he looked more ominous, threatening, and bat-like than ever, glaring at his victim with an intensity that left no doubt whatsoever in Aragorn's mind that he was in for it now.  The Potions master's voice was deceptively soft, reminding Aragorn unpleasantly of Lord Elrond on a bad decade.  

"I asked you a question.  Perhaps you misunderstood.  I was not asking for a detailed explanation of your life story.  I was asking," here he raised his voice slightly, "for a simple _yes_ or _no._  Now, let's try this again.  Did you take the Defense Against the Dark Arts position?" Snape asked very slowly to make sure that Aragorn would understand.

Aragorn didn't know what to do.  Of course he could use his superior battle skills to escape at any moment—he had no doubt of that—but he would prefer not to make trouble.  On the other hand, it struck him that Snape was making trouble.  And if he had learned one thing from his years of experience roaming all over Middle-earth, it was that once trouble troubles you, all caution is best thrown to the winds.

"Yes," he said quite clearly and distinctly.  "Yes, as a matter of fact I did."  Holding his breath, he waited to see what Snape would do.

As he had expected, the result was well worth seeing—the best description he could come up with afterwards was a cross between Lady Galadriel when she got within two feet of the Ring and an Orc having a bad hair day.  "You _WHAT?"_ Snape shrieked in fury, his eyes wild.  "You took the job?"  He looked ready to pull out large handfuls of his long, greasy hair.

"Yep," Aragorn replied, doing his best imitation of nonchalance.  "Of course, I don't have much experience teaching, but—"  He shrugged.  "With all my survival skills, how hard can it be?"

Snape's jaw dropped, and his grip on Aragorn's collar slackened a little.  "How...hard...can...it...be?" he echoed slowly, as if to himself.  "How...hard?"  Shaking his head in something between contempt and pity, he stared at Aragorn, who was starting to feel a little nervous about this sudden reversal in attitude.  "You poor, poor thing," Snape murmured, sighing deeply.  Then, quite suddenly, he laughed a little hysterically.

"Take my word for it, you don't know what you're getting into," he growled, regaining a little of his composure and bad temper.  "And I would suggest _very strongly_ that you _reconsider_ your decision."  Not sure what to make of this, Aragorn said the first thing that came into his head.

"Are you threatening me?" he asked innocently, widening his gorgeous blue eyes to their fullest extent in the Helpless Ranger look, which worked without fail when maidens were nearby.  Unfortunately, none were.  Instead, Snape matched his look with a venomous one of his own and released him disgustedly.

Taking a step backward and beginning to pace up and down the three feet of corridor directly in front of Aragorn, he started muttering to himself in a clearly audible voice.  "I give him useful advice when I should've killed him and what does _he _say? He wants to know whether I'm _threatening_ him!"  Aragorn managed to ignore him for a few seconds, much too busy being grateful for his life to notice anything else, but at last he sighed to himself and looked up resignedly at the dangerous lunatic in front of him.

"Um, excuse me?"  Snape continued to mutter and pace, and Aragorn was forced to follow him up and down the hallway to carry on the conversation—if the word applied in this case.  Why, this was the most one-sided conversation he'd had since the last time he talked to Elrond about his engagement with Arwen!  Not to mention hostile...

After a long pause, Aragorn tried again.  "Er, Professor Snape..."  He stumbled a bit over the unfamiliar title, but at least this time he got a reaction—Snape swung around and fixed him with a glare that would kill Balrogs.  "I don't mean to be rude, but...what do you mean?"

Snape ground his teeth audibly and rolled his eyes heavenward.  "Why?" he moaned.  "Why does this happen to _me?_  Why do I get stuck with all the idiots in the world?"  Aragorn was still trying to decide whether he should be insulted by this or not as Snape continued, apparently expressing all those unhealthy pent-up emotions that he had held back for all the years he'd been at Hogwarts.

"First it's Potter and Black at school.  _Then_ it's Potter's _kid_ and Weasley.  And Longbottom.  And Granger.  And...oh, why do I even bother?"  To Aragorn's great dismay and greater confusion, the Potions master burst into tears.

"Um...there...there?" Aragorn said uncertainly, not quite sure what he should do under the circumstances.  Should he try to comfort Snape, ignore him and hope he would recover, or run away screaming?

Utterly oblivious to his halfhearted efforts, Snape continued to sob.  "And my _hair!  _It could all have been all right, but the _hair..._Oh, I've tried everything!  Hair care potions and special spells and even..."  He gulped before continuing.  _"Muggle_ products.  But nothing works!  I'm doomed..."  Snape stared at Aragorn, but his eyes were unseeing, focused on some horror far away.

Aragorn was confused.  He had been, by and large, confused for most of his adult life.  And he had been confused stupendously and beyond reason for the last twenty-four hours.  It was, he decided, time to take the initiative and do something about his confusion once and for all.

"What's wrong with your hair?" he asked ingenuously.  "It looks fine.  I mean, my hair's like that most of the time."

This had an immediate effect on Snape—his head snapped up at the words "my hair's like that most of the time" and his expression changed rapidly for the third time in five minutes.  He gazed at Aragorn with something between incredulity and awe, the look of a lost soul who has just seen the light.

"Is it really?" Snape breathed.  "Is your hair really...as greasy...as mine?"

Aragorn shrugged.  "Well, yes, I guess so.  I mean, most days I don't even notice.  I hadn't really washed my hair properly in twenty years until the last time I saw Arwe—"  He broke off just before the end of the fateful name, very conscious that he had just committed a stupendous act of betrayal in asking Sibyll Trelawney out for the evening.  

Oh, well...as Elrond always said, when in Gondor...As a rule, expressions like this didn't make much sense to Aragorn.  He was more of a concrete person—with the physique and brains to match, Legolas always said.  Aragorn was never quite sure whether he ought to be insulted by Legolas' little comments...

There was, however, one expression that made great sense to Aragorn—"When life hands you Orcs, make Orc stew."  He didn't really care much for Orc stew, but in this case he knew exactly what the phrase meant.  It meant, "When stuck in a strange place, forget your betrothed of many years and immediately pick up the first woman who'll have you."  And when stuck in a strange place, Aragorn was very good at following his own advice.

_"Twenty years?!"_ gasped Snape, jerking him out of his so-called thoughts.  "How do you do that?"

Furrowing his brow in concentration, Aragorn began counting on his fingers.  "Hmm...let's see, there was seven years off generally wandering and scaring the wits out of hobbits in Bree, three years in the lands to the south poking around Mordor on a dare from Elladan, a couple months in Mirkwood, um...few more years hanging around Bree and scaring more hobbits—it's really fun, you know," he added, interrupting his list.

"What, not washing your hair for twenty years?" Snape demanded, giving Aragorn a look of mixed respect and horror.  Clearly, the man had a one-track mind.

"No, scaring hobbits," Aragorn explained.  "See, all you have to do is carry around a broken sword and look really mysterious and wear a cloak and stare out from under it a lot.  And order water in bars," he went on.  "They're always terrified and think you're unnatural if you only order water.  With a lemon.  And then sip it slowly and glare at everyone and they'll run like rabbits."  He smiled, remembering a very nice little place where, he had been told afterward, half the hobbits present had had to have extensive counseling after he left.  It was always a nice feeling to know that one made a difference in others' lives...

The other man said nothing for a minute, watching him with a small frown.  "So, basically, you don't even notice that your hair needs washing?" he asked at last.

Aragorn nodded matter-of-factly.  "Basically, yes."  To be blunt, he didn't really see what all the fuss was about.  One of the first things he had learned was that only sissies and Elves cared about minor details like hair and clothes and odor—_real _Men prided themselves on their greasiness and smelliness.  Why else would he have won the Mr. Minas Tirith contest five times running?

Snape was really getting excited now.  "So what you're saying," he babbled, starting to grin, "is that you have a much happier and less stressful life if you just don't care whether you're ugly or not?"

Though he didn't understand all the big words, Aragorn got the meaning of the question well enough.  "Well, of course!" he said impatiently.  "So are _you_ saying that you're just mean and cruel because you constantly worry about your hair?"

This was apparently either the worst or the best thing he could have said under the circumstances, because Snape immediately burst into tears again.  Aragorn looked around hopefully, but no help came.  Sighing, he put on his most sympathetic smile one more time and threw a comforting arm around Snape's shoulders.

"It's okay," he said consolingly.  "Come with me and I will show you the true path to the greasy life."  Together, the two men headed down the corridor.

A/N: Oooooookay.  I realize that ending was somewhat weird, but it's almost eleven o'clock—give me a break.  I have just finished a two-hour orchestra rehearsal and discovered that I have to report at church by seven o'clock on Sunday to play in said orchestra.  Meaning I have to leave for church at six-fifteen or thereabouts, so I'm not too incredibly happy about that.  But anyway, now that I think I've outlined pretty well who is "allied" with whom in the story, I can really get the conflict rolling.  To be honest, I'm not sure how much Ron and Harry will be in the story, but under the circumstances I don't really care.  Harry gets enough time in stories already—note that the series is known as "Harry Potter".  I have a possible title for the story!  And about time too...here it is: "The Grass is Always Greener..."  Followed by a summary something like: "Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn wanted to escape from their troubles in Middle-earth—but not this much."  If you absolutely cannot stand this and will boycott the story in future if I use this title, please tell me.  If you like it, please tell me.  If you have another suggestion, please tell me.  Hopefully Coming Reasonably Soon: Chapter Ten.


	10. Hot Pursuit

Disclaimer: Neither universe belongs to me. Unfortunately.

A/N: Wow, it's been a heck of a long time since I updated, hasn't it? I'm really sorry, but I wrote most of this chapter over a year ago and then my dad erased my hard drive so I had to rewrite it. It was a traumatizing experience because I'm still discovering stuff that's missing. And they were some of my favorite chapters, too…

love2read27: Yeah, I know. That was meant to be a bit of sarcasm, with the whole thing about mixing them up…hope it didn't put you off reading the rest of the story.

Veilius: No indeed, it's not dead! The story is back! I'm glad you liked it so far…the jam is really my favorite part too. My one truly inspired scene, as far as I'm concerned. At least Linda and I thought so when I came up with it in the library after school one day.

krenya-alenak: Thanks for the reviews! Yeah, Snape's mind is even now being contaminated by Aragorn's happy-go-lucky philosophy. I enjoyed having Snape be conversant with Muggle literature as well…hey, you never know what he's managed to pick up over the years, right?

aerinoutlander: Well, I don't think I've ever had anyone flat-out say my stories were too weird. (looks worried) This isn't good. Anyone else been scared off so far by my twisted sense of humor? Glad you enjoyed what you read!

totallyObsessedwithLOTR: Thanks! I like my name too…I identify so much with Eilonwy, I really do. Yes, Snape and Aragorn are definitely twisted for my story purposes, but it amuses me. Aragorn and Trelawney…(shudders)

sabrina: It makes my day when people think my stuff is funny. Actually, it would be pretty sad otherwise, since it consists entirely of humor…

kippinator: Slashy? Ah ha ha ha ha…oh, you're serious. No, I never write slash. And if I did, rest assured it wouldn't be Snape/Aragorn. Ewwww. (runs off to be sick) Glad you liked it!

Lily Mione Potter: But Legolas _is_ even hotter with his eyes open! (deadpan look) What's so funny about that? What? Just because I lust after Elves…(sniff) Just kidding. Seriously.

technetium: Scaring hobbits is hilarious in itself, I think. Just one of those things I'd love to try…if hobbits existed. Darn. Yeah, I don't think I'll change the title now. Pity, though, it's so pathetic…

Sorry if I missed anyone!

Hot Pursuit

Legolas was tired. His arms were sore from the strenuous labor of putting up posters. His hair was tangled from his wanderings about the castle in search of bulletin boards and other public places. His delicate Elven hands were blistered from the never-ending task of tearing off pieces of tape.

In a word, he found himself in a state that was unnatural to any Elf, and he was not enjoying it one bit.

"Keep it up, lad, that's the spirit!" roared Sir Cadogan, charging down the hallway through several picture frames. The knight, whom Legolas had decided was senile at best, seemed none the worse for wear, which made Legolas intensely jealous and added to his already considerable irritability.

"Shut up," Legolas snapped, ignoring him and searching for somewhere, anywhere, to stick his last six signs and get it over with. At this point, he no longer really cared whether they were visible to others or not, just as long as _he _never had to see them again…

Ah! An empty stretch of wall, unmarred by any wall sconces, statues, or—Legolas thought of Sir Cadogan and shuddered—portraits. Very good. Very good indeed. In fact, almost too good to be true.

Suddenly suspicious, Legolas looked warily around the corridor. His legendary Elven vision didn't see any possible threats in the form of booby traps, Peeves, or unenlightened humans opposing the rise of Elfkind, but a vague uneasiness still lingered in the back of his mind.

You're imagining things, he told himself sternly. What could possibly go wrong?

As Legolas would have known if he had listened to his infinitely wiser (though somewhat less hot) father Thranduil, "What could possibly go wrong?" is among the worst possible phrases in any language. Despite its inherent optimism, it inevitably heralds some sort of immediate misfortune, usually the worst possible thing that can go wrong under the circumstances.

Blissfully unaware of the consequences of invoking Murphy's Law, Legolas turned back to the chosen spot on the wall and prepared to end his day's toil. If he put a sign there…and there…and there…

"Perfect," Legolas murmured as he put up the next-to-last sign. Such was his relief and joy at having the end in sight that he even felt a momentary surge of kindness toward poor old Sir Cadogan.

Grinning from ear to pointed ear, he turned toward the nearest picture frame. "You know, I'm really glad—" he began.

And then Murphy's Law took over.

Legolas froze suddenly as he became aware of a steadily growing noise in the background. His trained senses automatically catalogued it. About fifty people, rapidly approaching on foot. What was going on?

Now he heard voices as well as footsteps. "I _know!"_ Shrill giggles. "He's _sooooo_ hot…" More giggles. Obviously a group of savages, even less civilized than the Haradrim—although, for that matter, all humans of his acquaintance were uncivilized savages. Still, this particular band might pose some danger, if their war cries indicated anything of their ferocity…

"Sounds like trouble, eh?" Sir Cadogan wheezed, looking more alert than Legolas had thought possible. At least, he looked less out of it then usual.

Much as Legolas hated to admit it, Sir Cadogan was probably right. Quickly, Legolas began to prepare the last poster—if he could get it up and then run, he wouldn't have to worry about it later. Just one more piece of tape—

The savages rounded the nearest corner, coming into view twenty feet down the corridor. Legolas gulped and turned to flee.

Too late. _"Look!"_ A shriek even more bloodcurdling than the previous ones went up from the midst of the group. Immediately, the herd of teenage girls, as Legolas had now identified them, came barreling toward him at top speed. This was just not his day.

It was impossible to outrun all of them, Legolas thought resignedly. He would have to stay and trust to his formidable charm and presence to pull him through this. "Look, ladies," he said smoothly. "I realize you are all overcome by my amazing good looks and long blond hair, but—"

"LEGOLAS!" screamed one girl near the front of the pack, increasing her speed. Others did the same. Legolas looked around wildly for an escape route, some sort of convenient magical stairway or secret passage, but he was out of luck this time. Where were those hidden trapdoors when he needed them?

To his horror, he stumbled as he began to back away. It would be death to show weakness to a pack of predators like these! "I'm extremely dangerous," he called a little shakily. "D-don't come n-near me or I'll—"

He didn't have time to think of just what he would do if they came near him. As one, the girls charged him, and the Elf was forced to flee for his life in a most undignified manner. "This is absolutely ridiculous," he muttered.

"Sir Cadogan!" he yelled in the general direction of the nearest picture frame. "A little help here?" But the knight had disappeared, leaving Legolas to face this danger alone.

Frantically, Legolas looked around for something, anything to save him. Nothing seemed forthcoming. He sped past innumerable tapestries, portraits, and suits of armor. Maybe he could hide in one…but no. Even his elven grace wouldn't give him time to get into a suit of armor before the fangirls rounded the corner and spotted him.

"I'm not really as attractive as you think I am!" he lied at the top of his lungs to the pursuing girls. "It's a wig, you know!" It hurt to let a falsehood like that pass his lips, even in self-defense, but maybe it would work.

It didn't. The girls screamed louder and ran faster, judging from the sound like a herd of baby buffalo ten yards behind him. Legolas winced.

Suddenly, he had a wonderful idea. He was still holding the last forlorn poster that he had been on the point of putting up. Quickly, Legolas reached into the pouch that hung at his side and pulled out a convenient pencil. He must have taken it from the common room the night before just in case—it never ceased to amaze him how conveniently lucky he could be sometimes.

As he ran, Legolas began to scribble on the paper. He looked up. Perfect—just ahead the passageway split left and right. Reaching the fork, Legolas hastily propped the sign against the wall and took the left corridor. He held his breath, waiting to see what would happen.

The fangirls slowed for a moment as they read the sign: HE WENT THATAWAY:--> With a shriek of excitement, the whole horde thundered off to the right, their cries growing fainter and fainter. Legolas slid down the wall wearily, relieved at his narrow escape. Even Elves could not match the speed of obsessed teenagers.

Wait! What was that? Legolas' ears pricked up more than usual at the sound of a bloodcurdling scream from the direction the girls had gone. Would that have been his fate if not for his lucky break? He shuddered and made a face at the thought.

Driven by a morbid curiosity, Legolas found himself making his way stealthily down the right fork of the hallway toward the source of the racket. Whatever part of his character made him a Good Person was nagging at him to help the poor unfortunate soul who had apparently run afoul of the mob. He ran his hand through his hair, trying to return it to its usual state of godlike perfection, and sighed, wondering why he always had to be such a Good Person.

Another scream pierced the air, this one from the throng of girls. "Malfoy! Don't let him get away!" Malfoy…Legolas remembered that name well. The boy in the Great Hall at breakfast, the one who had seemed to have entirely too much success with the young ladies. His rival in blond hotness.

That did it, Legolas decided. His conscience had nothing to do with this now. No, now he wanted to get closer to see the fun for himself—this was a type of female attention he was only too happy to leave to Malfoy. And he didn't want to miss any death or dismemberment that might occur as a result of an attack on the Slytherin.

While he analyzed his own slightly twisted motives, Legolas had steadily moved closer to the noise until he stopped, peering around a bend in the hallway at the object of his observation. He could now see the crowd of Hogwarts girls, squealing with excitement as they jostled each other. They were gathered in a tightening circle around a figure that Legolas presumed was Draco Malfoy, although it was impossible to see his face from the angle afforded by the Elf's hiding place just around the corner. The whole thing reminded him of sacrifice rituals he had heard about in which tribes of wild men would dance in a ring around their captives before tearing them limb from limb. He found himself smiling at the image.

The crowd shifted conveniently so that Legolas had a clear view of Malfoy, who looked understandably nervous but not yet terrified, despite his earlier scream of shock. "What's all this about?" he was asking with a trace of his usual smirk. "Can't keep your hands off me, ladies?"

All traces of humor left his voice when one of the nearest crazed fangirls made a grab for a handful of his robes. "AAAAAH! Get away! What are you doing?" He danced backward, but quickly realized his mistake when he bumped squarely into a redhead with a fierce glint in her eyes. "Are you all mad? Why are you—"

The girls closed in for the kill, shoving each other aside for the opportunity to steal a kiss or a lock of hair from their heartthrob. It looked like the end for Malfoy, and it was all Legolas could do to restrain himself from grinning outright.

Then something changed. Somehow, Malfoy managed to look over the heads of the mob, and his eyes briefly made contact with Legolas' own. "Wait!" he yelled. "Over there! Isn't that Legolas Greenleaf?"

Alarmed, Legolas ducked around the corner, but it was too late. As one, the girls' heads swiveled, their eyes suddenly riveted on him. An excited babble grew as their atrophied brains took in the situation—two equally handsome targets within their reach.

It was only a matter of time, Legolas knew, before they made a decision and went after either him or Malfoy. He already knew reasoning wouldn't work, and he didn't intend to create an incident by slaughtering mere children, no matter how obviously un-innocent. There was no way out.

Curse that demon Malfoy.

Wait! Perhaps he could escape yet…if these monsters were as mindless as they seemed…Legolas stepped out from his hiding place, already thinking fast. "You can't get both of us, you know," he said reasonably. "One of us is bound to get away. You're not going to let a—" What was the term? Think, Legolas, think! "—a 'total hottie' like Malfoy escape, are you?"

It worked. The girls hesitated, torn between Malfoy and Legolas, and both males seized the opportunity and bolted in opposite directions. Legolas sprinted down the hallway, not stopping or even looking back for a good ten minutes. At last he judged that he had almost certainly outstripped his pursuers and slowed to a brisk walk. It was actually fairly relaxing, and he found himself feeling secure enough to admire the paintings he passed rather than looking around for enemy ambushes.

This lasted until he collided with Draco Malfoy at a turn in the corridor. Legolas fell flat on his face, berating himself for being so absentminded that his natural elven grace had deserted him at an inopportune moment like this. The only consolation was that Malfoy was suffering the same humiliation.

"So. Elf," said Malfoy, rolling over onto his back with a groan and massaging his temple where he and Legolas had crashed into each other.

"So," Legolas agreed eloquently, wincing as he probed a similar tender spot on his forehead. "You are a worthy opponent, human." They both lay still for a moment, trying to summon the energy to get up. Legolas rose to his feet first and offered Malfoy a helping hand, which he ignored.

The Slytherin sneered up at Legolas. "Oh, you'll find I am more than worthy," he boasted. "I'll get you, and your midget friend too. It's only a matter of time."

Legolas almost corrected his misuse of the term "midget", but stopped himself in time. This wasn't about Gimli. He could deal with any guilt resulting from the jam incident later, when it wouldn't jeopardize his credibility as a rival. "We'll see about that," he replied with an enigmatic arch of his eyebrow. These humans were so unobservant. Why, this one hadn't even begun to notice the rebellion organizing right under his nose!

Without another word, Malfoy snorted, turned his back on Legolas, and stalked down the corridor. Legolas couldn't resist. "You'll be the first to go after the house-elf rebellion," he promised in a just-barely-audible tone. Malfoy didn't say anything, but he stiffened and cast an abortive glance over his shoulder at Legolas, then began walking even faster. Pathetic human. Legolas had no fears that he could do anything to stop the coming revolution, even if anyone believed him when he tried to warn them.

Speaking of which…he would have to consult with this Dobby again, now that the signs were up. House-elves all over the castle would be noticing them as they went about their daily tasks, and they were bound to stir up feelings of both anticipation and fear. It would be Legolas' job to calm their fears and assure them that he would usher in a new age of prosperity and socks for all.

The fangirls forgotten for the moment, Legolas savored the thought of himself at the head of the diminutive army, brandishing pots, pans, and pokers. Ah, yes, it would be glorious indeed! Ah, how sweet victory would be. Aaaaah…

Legolas realized he was stifling a huge yawn with difficulty. This was quite understandable—after all, he had had a very trying day, between posters and screaming hordes. He needed to keep up his strength for the house-elves. They were counting on him, and he had no intention of letting them down. Obviously, a nap was in order.

Aided by his unerring sense of direction, Legolas headed for the Gryffindor common room and some well-earned rest.

A/N: Wheeheehee! First chapter in a year and a half! Yes, I never abandon stories…sometimes I just don't have time. I hate it, but there it is. Schoolwork. After junior year, I figure senior year can't throw anything much worse at me…but then again, maybe it can. I've heard terrible things about AP English IV. But for now, I have three blessed months of summer in which to sleep and read. Oh, and I suppose I could update too, if you insist. No, no, really, you're too kind. No, no autographs…ha. Right.


End file.
